The Undoing
by RhondaStar
Summary: Chapter 4 - her growing feelings for a muggle and an encounter with Tom Riddle bring changes to Albus & Minerva's relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**My attempt at how Minerva and Albus met and their changing relationship over the years. No doubt the rating will change as it progressess. I'm doing my best with what (little) information we have so forgive me if at times dates and events seem out of sync or purely guess work!**

**AN: I own nothing and make no pennies from this!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 – early summer, 1944 <strong>

It shouldn't _really_ matter, that's the annoyance of it all, it was a slight hiccup in an otherwise perfect spell. But it does and that's what cuts now.

"Sir, I think what happened is I..."

But he had brushed her aside with a wave of his hand and that's what really hurt, what really mattered, that the man she sought to impress above all others had witnessed the error, however slight.

When she'd started over it had gone perfectly well and she'd still completed first, but none of that mattered. Only the error.

And as she sat watching Dumbledore move from student to student giving encouragement and congratulations she was once again torn over her feelings of adulation and abhorrence towards him. She'd always considered him to be some kind of god, omniscient, a saviour perhaps who would one day be called upon to save the wizarding world. Now, he appeared as a figure in authority who had let her down. And in a classroom where she quite often felt alone that mattered.

It wasn't entirely fact that Minerva McGonagall was a strict, no-nonsense workaholic; sure she came across that way the majority of the time but it wasn't for want of trying. At school she had always tried to make the effort, it just seemed easier for other girls than herself. Whilst they were fussing over what to wear and which boy they were now enamoured with, she was doing her upmost to impress her professors with the new piece of information she'd learnt by heart and pushing her talents with novel, and ever more difficult, spells.

She haphazardly stacked her books together at the sound of the bell, bristling when a Slytherin purposefully nudged her arm on his way out. Even now, in her seventh year, she was still viewed as an easy target. Sighing she got down on her knees to collect her things together and noted a pair of patent purple shoes approach her desk.

"Miss McGonagall?"

"Yes Professor," she glanced up at him, definitely god-like as he towered over her.

"Everything okay?"

"Perfectly," she scrambled up, brushing down her robes.

"Clumsy today?"

"No sir!" she bit back too quickly, she always did snap without thinking. "I completed the spell, you didn't check."

A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, "I saw – you did it perfectly, as usual."

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

"You're impulsive Miss McGonagall, remember sometimes to slow down and consider your actions." He referred of course both to her rushing of the spell earlier and her sharp comments.

She nodded, crestfallen, "Yes sir."

His eyes twinkled in merriment at her, such fierceness in one so young.

"Only a few months to go," he added, "and you'll be fine, we both know you have a glittering career ahead of you. Don't let anyone hold you back."

"No sir, thank you."

She turned on her heel and swept out of his classroom and it took him a few minutes to realise he was still staring after her. All too quickly Minerva McGonagall had gone from his favourite, and most promising, student, to the girl often creeping into his everyday thoughts.

* * *

><p>It was with trepidation that she approached the esteemed Headmaster's office and for a while she stood there staring at the fearsome gargoyle, her mind turning over the options on what to do next. How did one gain entrance to the Headmaster's office?<p>

She didn't have to worry for long though as quite soon Professors Dumbledore and Hyde were approaching.

"Miss McGonagall, can we help you?" The young Ms Hyde said and it surprised Minerva how she bristled at the sight of her with Dumbledore. She was, probably quite rightly, the subject of most of the male students' fantasies. A blur of blonde curls and a rosy complexion.

"Yes, I... the Headmaster..." She paused mentally slapping herself, 'pull yourself together girl' "I have an appointment with the Headmaster to discuss my next steps regarding the Auror programme." She said quite calmly.

"Perhaps you should come with us," Dumbledore said, sweeping his arm before him. Professor Hyde muttered something towards the gargoyle and ascended before Minerva, who shivered when she felt Dumbledore's arm squeeze her shoulder.

"Ah, Albus, Charlotte, I'm glad you're both here. And our promising Miss McGonagall."

Minerva was doing her best not to gaze around the room in wonder; it was so vast, brimming with history and knowledge.

"Sir." Was all she could muster in response.

"Do take a seat," Albus said comfortingly, conjuring a small green armchair behind her. She hesitantly sat down.

"Now, Miss McGonagall I am so very sorry to have to cancel our meeting, I've been called away on rather urgent business, as you know these are desperate... well, you're but a chi... Never mind. Professor Dumbledore, I'm sure, is more than capable of stepping in, so your preparation won't have gone to waste, and Charlotte..." he stepped in and took the other woman's arm, whispering something to her.

Minerva lowered her books into her lap, staring steadfastly at them, she suddenly felt so very small in that large room.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" She looked up, meeting Albus' warm gaze, "And then we'll get started." He said pleasantly, clapping his hands together.

She was on her second cup of tea before Headmaster Dippet and Professor Hyde had left.

"Have a biscuit Minerva." Dumbledore said, placing a tin on the arm of the chair. "I think you'll find they're very good."

She hesitated; she didn't really have a sweet tooth after all. But then it seemed rude not to take one. Ginger newts, she recalled having a particular fondness for them when she was a girl.

"Thank you Professor." She nibbled one corner, then smiled, leaning back in her chair, seemingly instantly relaxing. "Oh my goodness," she breathed, "these are the best..."

Dumbledore chuckled, it wasn't often Minerva McGonagall forgot herself. She seemed to sense his amusement and covered her mouth, a slight blush creeping to her cheeks. Surely she was too old to get embarrassed.

He waved his hand at her, "Have another, have another. I thought you might appreciate them."

"Thank you Professor, they are most divine."

"You may have noticed I have something of a sweet tooth myself." He said, taking a seat across from her and pouring a cup of tea.

"I have noticed you tend to..." She smiled, quietly sipping her tea; perhaps she shouldn't reveal how she'd watched him during mealtimes. How she had noted his tendencies.

"I tend to?"

"You sometimes have second helpings; I think apple crumble is one of your favourites."

"You would be quite right."

"And lemon tart, with cream."

This time Albus leant back in his chair, his long fingers folding in front of him, was she really that interested in his likes and dislikes? A young woman as beautiful and talented as she?

"Again, Minerva, you are right. I see you are already honing your tracking skills."

She glanced down, away from his searching eyes, away from how the sound of her name on his lips made her stomach swoop.

"Don't be embarrassed my dear, every Auror needs that skill."

Ah, the focus on their meeting. She sat up again, ever the eager student. "I've read the pamphlets Sir, and a few books I found in the library, and I've tried to make contact with the ministry regarding my application. Headmaster Dippet said..."

He held his hand up, "Yes Miss McGonagall, several times I believe. Didn't we talk about patience earlier today?"

"But...?" She bit down on her lip endearingly, feeling like a scolded child.

He softened his tone, "I apologise, I am not in the business of chastising. You should know Minerva that you are one of the finest students Hogwarts has had the pleasure of."

She narrowed her eyes, she wasn't used to praise, hard work yielded results in her home and that was all.

"Exceptionally talented with a work ethic to rival any Professor in this school. I do believe your application is a matter of protocol rather than a real deciding factor. Along with your exam results of course, but we all expect..." He paused; pressure and expectation were a difficult thing to shoulder at eighteen years old, as he very well knew.

"Then... have I done something wrong Sir?"

"Wrong?"

"Yes," she nodded slightly, sitting forward until one of her books toppled from her lap. "I often feel as if you, as if you are judging me."

For a moment he was unsure how to proceed; he certainly never meant his demeanour to in any way come across as negative. If anything, he was doing his best to distance himself from her, as he had done for years. They'd spent so much time together, since her third year when she'd showed outstanding talent in transfiguration he'd spent hours out-of-lessons with her, teaching her things even adult wizards struggled with. And then, the realisation she had the ability to possibly be an Animagus... he'd been so proud, as if she were _his_ to be proud of.

"No Minerva, you've done nothing _wrong_," He leant forward, picking up the book she'd dropped and accidentally brushing her foot as he brought it up to her lap.

She held his gaze, her eyes penetrating, sparkling, and he found himself drifting into the pleasure of sitting there with her, surrounded by her unique fragrance that he'd learnt so well over the years. The curve of her long, elegant neck as she tipped her head to one side to regard him, the stark contrast between her pale, delicate skin and the ebony shine of her hair.

"Professor?"

"Yes," he coughed, sitting back. He was an old man to her, he should know better.

"I was just wondering, I mean, do you think the Headmaster would mind if I just had a quick look at his bookcase?"

At this he laughed, she hadn't even noted the intensity of the moment. "Miss McGonagall you astound me." He stood up with a sweep of his burgundy robes. "It is rather an impressive room though isn't it," he glanced to the desk, up behind it to the observatory. Holding his hand out to her he said quickly, "Come, I'll show you my favourite part."

She placed her books on the chair and followed him up the small stairway to where the telescope stood, grand and majestic.

"Astronomy is quite a passion of mine Minerva."

She heard him say as she approached the top of the stairs, again the use of her name, again the tightness in her stomach.

"Come, come, sit here." He guided her forward and she did as he said, taking a seat on the plush purple cushion and taking a look through the eyepiece.

"Of course it isn't the right time, three o'clock in the afternoon, but in the evening imagine the wonder..." His voice trailed off as he watched her, her slim hand already coming up to rest against the side of the telescope as she shifted into a better position.

"It's very quiet up here," she finally said. "Secluded."

"Yes, I suppose it is." He said gently, leaning back against the wall, "Perhaps that's why I like it; peace can be a difficult thing to come by."

She moved, her eyes searching his face as he spoke.

"Sir, I've heard," she swallowed, gathering her courage. "The attacks sir, in Europe."

His gaze sharpened, and yet to her it seemed a flash of pain crossed his wise features.

"I want to fight, to protect..."

The thought of the young Minerva caught up in this seemed alien to him, he knelt down in front of her. "I would not dream of having you harmed in this war."

She smiled, "No, but I don't intend to _be_ harmed." She said, jutting her chin out defiantly.

At this he smiled, "Ever the Gryffindor, you are fierce Minerva, but remember what I've said, patience. You have years of training ahead of you, don't drag yourself into this before you are ready."

"Will you be 'dragged into it' Sir?"

He paused for a moment, then said simply, "Yes, I rather suspect I will. But then, I have always been involved in it."

She didn't know what he meant by that, but there was little time to ask as he squeezed her hand. "Come, we better leave the Headmaster's office, it's a beautiful day outside, go find your friends, enjoy being young."

She didn't have the nerve to tell him that she'd rather spend the entire day right there with him.

* * *

><p>It was early May when she found herself in an entirely new position – in more ways than one.<p>

The late afternoon sun was just clearing the Forbidden Forest as she raced down the side of the hill towards their designated meeting spot, robes flying about her as she did so. Her wet hair whipping her face.

"I'm sorry sir," she panted, coming to a severe halt right by Dumbledore's legs, he was sat on the stump of a tree, his eyes closed and a most serene expression on his face. Though she couldn't help but note that his short beard was becoming increasingly grey in colour.

"I got caught up..." she breathed deeply, "I was talking to Professor..." she wheezed, "about my Charms exam next week and..." she breathed deeply again. "I had to rush and change because I had Quidditch practice beforehand and it was muddy and then I bumped into him on the way back to the dormitory and got talking."

"My dear Miss McGonagall, just listening to you has exhausted me." He teased, eyes twinkling.

She smiled, "Thank you Professor." She took one last deep breath, then proceeded to lift her long hair up and back from her face, "I am sorry though Sir, I've been looking forward to this all week."

He knew she meant the excitement of her first attempt at transforming but that wasn't entirely the reason his brain registered. He watched mesmerised as she tamed her wild hair, tying it back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

He shook his head to dispel the image of unfastening it for her and letting the loose tendrils fall into his palm. "Are you ready?" He simply asked.

"I'm nervous."

He smiled reassuringly, to be honest he was nervous too, god forbid any harm came to Minerva. Still, she needed him to be strong right now so he masked his nerves and nodded reassuringly. "Everything will be fine my dear."

He was still sitting on the tree stump, behind him the sun was setting and as she stood there staring at him she could have sworn he took on the appearance of a god.

Closing her eyes she concentrated as he went through the steps they'd discussed a hundred times before, closed her mind, focussed deep inside. She followed his instructions; she recanted the spell, silently, in her mind.

The next thing she was fully aware of was Albus' warm hand on her arm and his voice, concerned yet gentle.

"Minerva," he said, slightly anxiously she thought. "Can you hear me?"

She nodded, vaguely aware of her surroundings, evening had come. "Yes, yes I can."

He let out a long breath, "Well done my dear."

"For... for what?" She asked dazed as he helped her sit. "I don't remember."

"It can be quite off-putting first time I am told, sometimes for the first few times, you didn't fully change of course but there were signs. Then I believe, to use a well-known phrase, you passed out."

"Oh," was all she could muster as she leant back against the tree stump he had been sitting on. "Did I look awful?"

"When you fainted?" He chuckled sitting on the floor beside her.

"No, when I changed."

This time he shook his head with a smile, still holding her hand in his. "No, I doubt you ever could."

She looked up at him sharply and he quickly ploughed on. "Your hands showed signs of changing," she wiggled her fingers in his palm. "And your eyes, your nose," he followed the line with his gaze, so very close now, his face inches from hers, she could smell hints of fresh limes on his breath. "And your mouth."

She nervously licked her lips. An unfathomable pounding had started somewhere deep inside and she was unsure whether it was the result of her transformation or something much more terrifying, something much more human.

It felt to her as if the air had suddenly warmed, and the wide, wide world had shrunk and now centred on this very place, this very moment here with him. She kept telling herself he was her Professor, he was her friend and mentor but her brain seemed to be losing all rational thought – not at all something she was used to.

He was staring at her mouth, at the way she nervously bit down on her bottom lip and his crystal clear eyes held such warmth for her, she leant forward without even thinking it through and tenderly pressed her lips against his.

She was so very young; she tasted like ripe strawberries, fresh and heady, Albus thought as her sweet mouth touched his.

Of course, the rational, upright, moral side of him should have pushed her away immediately. The teacher in him should have. But he couldn't even bring himself to lift his arm.

Their mouths were closed, it wasn't the most passionate kiss or the most forceful, it wasn't full of promise or hidden desires. It was simply sweet and seemed so very natural.

It wasn't until the need for air forced them apart that he took control of the situation. Putting physical distance between them as he rose and turned away from her.

In a second she was on her feet, terrified of where this now went.

"Miss Mc..." he turned to face her, rubbing his chin, "Minerva," he breathed gently. "We both know that was very wrong."

She stopped, her heart sank a little, and yet there was a new feeling, a deep burning in the root of her stomach that seemed to sink down between her legs. She'd felt similar things once or twice but nothing like she felt now. Nothing so consuming.

"Yes, Professor. I'm sorry."

"No, I am, I shouldn't have let it happen." He paused, sorting his thoughts into some kind of logical order, trying to ignore the very physical response his body had started to make to her kiss. "I care very deeply for you my dear, but I am your Professor and you are only..."

"Eighteen. And I graduate in just over a month."

"I am aware of that." He knew of what she hinted, but it was ridiculous to even contemplate it. She was still his student. He had to see her as that, and only that. "I'm very proud of you," he said awkwardly, noting how she rolled her eyes, it made him smile, she had balls did McGonagall, he remembered once seeing her knock a seventh year off his broom during Quidditch try outs when she was but twelve years old.

"What are you laughing at?" She said affronted, hands on her hips.

"I was just recalling your first Quidditch try out." He chuckled

"Now?" She asked incredulously, she would never truly understand how Albus Dumbledore's mind worked.

"I'm sorry," he moved back to her, careful not to touch her this time though. "Perhaps we should just..."

"Let's forget it!" She interrupted, "I made a mistake, let's just forget it."

He nodded, solemnly.

After wards, creeping back across the field towards the castle, she felt slightly at odds with the surroundings. Inside she knew there would be giggly eighteen year old girls enjoying perhaps their last few weeks of sharing dormitory space. Silly chats over boys. Worried chats over exams. Future plans. Talk of staying in touch.

And yet she felt detached. Alone. Despite his strong, reassuring presence behind her.

He followed at a slight distance behind her, watching how her young lithe body moved so quickly and easily up the hill. How some of her hair had come loose from the bun and she had dirt smudged on her robes from where they'd sat.

Before they were within real distance of the castle he stopped her, a gentle hand on her upper arm.

"Minerva..."

She half turned, glancing back over her shoulder to him. "Don't worry Professor; I won't say anything... ever..."

His eyes looked troubled, face suddenly lined. "I'm sorry, I should never..." He said earnestly.

"Don't be," she shrugged, "I wanted to, it was me not you who forced this."

"I don't want you to feel let down by me."

She smiled, in spite of her heavy mood, "I never could be Albus. Perhaps I should go back alone."

He nodded – it was the first time he could ever recall her using his name.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight my dear," he watched as she ran up the last of the slope and, oddly, felt incredibly lonely.

* * *

><p>It was by no means the first time she'd kissed a boy, <em>man<em> she mentally berated herself, _he's a man, as old as your father_. And yet he didn't seem as old as her father. He was just Albus. And the kiss had been like no other she'd ever experienced.

Minerva wasn't one for fame or adoration, she'd won countless tournaments over the years, had aced every exam she'd ever taken, yet she never sought glory and wholeheartedly avoided the 'in' crowd. That didn't mean she was entirely a loner. She had friends, good friends, but they were a select group and she preferred it that way. And with boys too it had been the same, she was by no means frigid or the ice-maiden many of her classmates referred to her as. Yet she didn't flaunt her relationships, which had amounted to two that mattered, and she certainly never kissed and told.

But now, lying in bed replaying those forty-five seconds over and over in her mind, she wished there was someone she could tell. Her heart felt it might burst with the juxtaposition of utter joy and sheer pain over it all. Here she was, eighteen years old, and she'd fallen for her considerably older Professor. He was sixty-three, she knew that because she'd stolen into the library earlier in the evening and looked it up, he'd be sixty-four in the summer. She repeated the numbers over and over in her head but the more she did, the more they meant nothing. It didn't change who he was. It didn't change how she felt about him.

Groaning she pulled her pillow over her face, she needed to sleep!

* * *

><p>At breakfast the next morning Albus had resisted the urge to seek her face out on the Gryffindor benches. He hardly slept, rising at four and walking the grounds as the sun rose, he found himself sitting by the lake as it crept over the hill, saying her name into the early morning mist. There was something about it, uttering the syllables into the misty air, watching them rise like steam. The feel of her name on his lips made him happy, and that was a fact that both terrified and humiliated him.<p>

For one thing he was too old to find silly, and pointless, actions like saying her name aloud enriching. And for another, it had been many, _many_ years since an act like that had even interested him. He hadn't been in love for over forty years, and then it wasn't even with a female. So, the irony of it being one now, and a student at that, failed to amuse even his usual joyful nature. He thought he knew himself well. Love, the one thing he always championed beyond all else, seemed to be using him as a punch-bag.

"Albus," he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder and quickly put his spoon back down into his porridge.

"Ah, morning Horace, and how are we this morning?" He dropped another lump of sugar into his tea, in real need of a pick-up.

"Vexed," Slughorn replied, slipping into a seat beside him. "Not only are we nearing the end of term with your talented house still far ahead of mine, but the gifted Miss McGonagall..."

Albus' head shot up, "Yes?"

"Well she refuses to join my little get togethers, has done for the past three years now, and I really think with her future prospects having her there for the last few gatherings will be most..."

Albus watched him tight-lipped, a little amused. "Most?"

"Well, a waste really, a damn waste. I was wondering if you could maybe... have a word?"

"I refuse to get involved in this Horace, I'm sure if she's made that decision she has her reasons, she's taking a great many subjects, she's probably booked up." The feel of her face brushing his flashed into his mind causing his breathing to hitch a little, luckily Horace was so absorbed in his own issues he didn't notice.

Pushing his tea aside Albus got up, "I have a class this morning so I'll talk to you later Horace."

"Yes, yes..." Slughorn said, finishing off Dumbledore's porridge.

* * *

><p>Tentatively Minerva neared the Transfiguration corridor; she wasn't sure what was going to happen when she saw him again. After all it was unlikely they'd explode on the spot or somehow give away their indiscretion from two days ago just by a look. She wasn't exactly certain what it was she feared – perhaps the look in his eyes, what if they were full of regret? Of loathing? Or worse, of pity? Silly young girl developing a crush at this point in her education.<p>

The great door creaked slightly as she pushed it back and Albus looked up from his desk where he was grading papers.

"Er, Sir, Professor Slughorn said you wished to see me." She croaked out from the back of the long room.

He found his hand shook slightly as he put his quill down. "I'm sorry Miss McGonagall; I didn't quite catch what you said."

She twisted her hands together; wishing she'd brought some books with her, holding them in front of her would provide at least some kind of security blanket. Her shoes seemed to click louder than usual as she quickly made her way between the desks to him.

"I came because Professor Slughorn said you wished to see me."

Albus rolled his eyes, "Did he now!"

"Is that not the case?"

She was nervous, Merlin, he'd hardly ever seen her like that. It reminded him of how young she was.

"He's trying to coerce me to _coerce_ you into joining his little group?"

"The Slugs?" She asked incredulously and Albus let out a roar of laughter which put her completely at ease. "Sorry Sir," she said sheepishly.

He waved it away, "No matter." He paused for a moment watching her, "Can I ask why you didn't join?"

She shrugged, "I never felt it would be beneficial to me."

At this he smiled, again a sense of pride rising in him.

"And, I'm not too fond of some of the members..." she trailed off and he wondered if she harboured the same foreboding about a certain Tom Riddle as he did. He was a fellow Prefect after all, and they were on the duelling team together but he'd never caught so much of a whiff of friendship between the two, hardly even acknowledgement.

Still, there was no need to press her on something like that. She'd be gone in a month and hopefully never encounter Riddle again.

"Professor..." She said gently, and he nodded as he gathered his papers together. "I'm sorry I missed your lesson yesterday."

He sat back, folding his hands together, "That's quite alright Minerva, I understand why," he paused, torn between wanting to alleviate her distress and yet maintain that professional distance. "But I do hope you'll be present tomorrow. Last few lessons now."

The thought of not seeing him everyday hadn't occurred to her before and she found it nauseating.

"I will. In fact I was wondering," she was at ease now, in her element discussing work, it was easier to forget that she'd made a fool of herself kissing him. "Last year we began to discuss Patronus charms... we even started some lessons."

"Ah yes, I recall, you were very interested."

"Yes, but then I got so caught up in the Animagus training over the summer that it just sort of..."

"You're interested and skilled in so many areas, it can be tiring. Do you wish to start working on them again?"

"If you're willing, I don't want it to be..." he watched as she twisted her hands together, her usual ramrod straight back curving a little as she moved, "...awkward."

He swallowed. He longed to hold her.

"Not at all, we're friends are we not. Shall we start now?"

* * *

><p>The first time Minerva successfully cast her Patronus was by the lake, on a heady June night.<p>

For the past two weeks she had worked alone plasticising, Professor Dumbledore having been abruptly called away. She had her suspicions as to why but she didn't dwell on them. The thought of him going headlong into danger unnerved her more than it should have, more than a Gryffindor should feel these things.

When he'd returned she knew something was terribly wrong, he was back physically but he wasn't completely in their lessons, or their conversations. She watched from her usual seat as his lessons became lifeless and he himself listless.

A week before her last exam she had headed down to the lake, knowing on some level it was wrong, despite feeling so very right.

She'd seen him from a window as she'd returned from the library, clutching her revision notes and muttering under her breath about incantations. It only took a few minutes to reach him, and she wanted so to lift his spirits, the downward slope of his shoulders suggested heartbreak.

"Professor..." she said gently as she reached the place he stood.

He glanced back over his shoulder, "Ah, Miss McGonagall, evening."

"Good evening sir, good to see you back."

"Isn't it beautiful here," he said nodding out at the view. "When I'm away I sometimes forget just how much. The ever changing scenery."

"Yes sir, I'll miss it, immensely. And the castle, it's like, home." She came to stand beside him, almost shoulder to shoulder.

"I sometimes forget, you'll be leaving us very soon," he regarded her face, serene and poised as always. "I shall miss having you around."

"I'll miss learning from you Professor, and... talking to you. You've taught me so very much."

He nodded, turning his attention back to the view. "Terrible things are happening Minerva, as much as I would like to send you out into the world ready to embrace all of its joys and successes, I fear, as an Auror, you'll see the dark side more than you should."

She wasn't quite sure how to respond, they always spoke honestly, openly, but he was being candid with her now in a way she wasn't used to. Almost as if she were his equal, his friend, he'd used the word before and she'd doubted the validity of it.

"I'd like to stay in touch Sir," she finally said, "would you mind if I write to you here?"

"Of course not Minerva, it's been a great pleasure to watch you grow and learn all these years. To teach you, have you in my house." He wasn't sure if keeping in touch was such a good idea, but then he wasn't entirely sure if he'd be alive come September.

She smiled, "I sometimes wonder if the right choice was made, would I have been better suited to Ravenclaw after all."

"No life is without questions or regrets, yet none is without its joys, and you have many years ahead of you. You are courageous Minerva, and loyal."

"I'm not sure I'm a leader."

"Not all of us are, and yet, I believe you're selling yourself short. You're only eighteen remember, many things still to learn." He suddenly laughed, catching her off-guard, "And yet your wit..." he chuckled, "would make you highly suitable for Ravenclaw."

"I don't think I'd ever been so terrified as when the sorting hat was placed on my head, I kept willing it to hurry up so I wouldn't have to be the centre of attention for long."

He remembered her skinny legs swinging as she hopped up onto the stool, long hair loose down her back.

"Well, you're highly intelligent, quick-minded, and of course your very name suggests _wise_."

She smirked, folding her arms around her revision notes, "Not always."

"Time will tell." He added.

For a while they stood in companionable silence, until the sun was almost set and a tranquil, lavender light, was playing across the lake.

"Shall we give it go then?" He asked, breaking the silence.

"Sorry sir?" She said, quite taken aback.

"Your Patronus, I'm aware you've been practising."

"Oh, yes Professor, of course." She quickly placed her notes on the floor and took out her wand.

"Remember your happiest memory, let it fill you."

She closed her eyes, images and half-heard whispered words flew through her mind, searching for the one thing that would spark it. Her first win at Quidditch, her first outstanding in Transfiguration, dancing at the Christmas ball with Jamie Ludlow, receiving the duelling champion trophy... Albus Dumbledore smiling at her, holding her hand, touching her arm, kissing her lips...

The force of it almost made her topple over but he caught her elbows holding her steady. This overwhelming force surged forward and for a moment she felt undone by it. But then it travelled out over the lake, and they smiled together at her Animagus darting over the glassy surface.

Too soon it melted away and she sagged back against him.

"Congratulations," he whispered by her ear, "now you have to learn how to maintain that when danger approaches, and I might even teach you my secret."

She tilted her head up to look at him, "Oh?"

"Using them for communication. Not many can, in fact, if I do say so myself, I do believe I am the only one to try it."

She smiled, at once completely happy.

"Tomorrow?"

"Perhaps, we need more lessons Miss McGonagall but I'll teach you."

She didn't see him again for the rest of the year. He was called away and when she left Hogwarts for the last time that summer she feared she'd never see him again at all. He didn't attend the summer graduation, and by then fear was rampant anyway.

Both the wizarding and Muggle worlds were in the depths of war.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Hope you're enjoying it so far - please let me know what you think. R<em>**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh my goodness this took a long time to get right! My magical knowledge etc isn't brilliant but I've done my best trying to blend it with the more human elements.**

**Here we see the aftermath of the war, how it's changed both Albus and Minerva's lives and the deepening of their relationship. Note the rating change for sexual scenes. Apologies for any grammatical errors, I've read it many times but still manage to miss some.**

**AN: Don't own them and make no money from it.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2 – Late-Autumn 1945<strong>

_Almost a new year_, Albus mused, sitting outside a cafe in a back street in Hungary. He'd always chosen to see it as something positive, a chance to start afresh and wipe away any lingering mistakes. Yet as he sat there, watching a light snowfall coat the small cobbled lane, he couldn't find any traces of hope. Surrounding him was a crippled world, the inhabitants of the city defeated and drawn; everywhere he looked people wore the face of death. Funny, how the Muggles' war so closely mirrored their own.

He had no doubts that he was moving ever closer to a one-on-one confrontation with Gellert. And he realised, quite some time ago, that Gellert had succeeded in finding the elder wand. With that thought in mind he knew he was at a disadvantage. But death didn't scare him, it never had. The recuperations of it perhaps did. What really kept him awake at night was the fear that he might still be so easily swayed by Grindelwald. That he might still have that intense hold over him as he once did as a charming young man in Godric's Hollow.

Sharp memories pricked his mind, like a snake attacking, and he closed his eyes quickly to dispel them.

He felt so very alone. The previous Christmas had come and gone without him even noticing and soon another would be upon him. He thought of Hogwarts, the new students, the celebrations. He thought of Christmas there when he'd gone to bed with an overstuffed belly and cheeks rosy from too much whisky.

He thought of Minerva. Her last Christmas at Hogwarts. She'd given him a chess piece, a very rare one, carved from Elm, a king who bore a striking resemblance to Albus himself. He remembered her smile, her skin, her scent when she'd kissed him.

Draining his coffee he left a tip and headed out into the winter street, back to the small room he was sleeping in. Tomorrow he'd search again. There were still leads to follow.

That night when he dreamt he was back in that summer night, the scent of pine surrounding him, her sweet kiss. And then things got muddled and she became Gellert, and he found himself swept away by his emotions, behaving in a way he never thought he would. He woke covered in a sheen of sweat and spent the rest of the night pouring over intelligence for clues.

* * *

><p>Training was utterly delightful! Whereas in school it had taken a while, years even, for her to find her feet socially, here Minerva fell straight into it. She loved the discipline, the hard work, the camaraderie and sense of purpose.<p>

As always things came so easily to her; she'd always been a skilled duellist and quickly ascended to the best in the group. Yet nobody judged her here, nobody saw it as a weakness to be good. They celebrated her.

And with that support she'd blossomed. Her Animagus training was developing at quite a rate and she was pretty sure she'd make a full transformation before the year was out. There was even talk of using her early for covert operations.

Yet what was most surprising was that she had a boyfriend. She hadn't been looking, still harbouring lingering feelings for her old Professor, but then she'd met Bryan, young like her, eager and talented like her – _though not quite as good_, she often teased.

It was only the early stages, they'd been on dates, had kissed a few times but nothing more. She knew he wanted to take it further, and in a way she did too. She felt she was getting too old to still be a virgin, most of her friends at school had come back that last year deflowered. She'd resolutely vowed to wait for true love. Now, it all seemed a silly nonsense. What did it matter really, whether you were in love or not, whatever love really was anyway.

She was musing on this as she skipped from the tram and headed down to the ministry entrance. She was beginning to rather enjoy being out and about in the city, even with the horrendous state it was in there was still a sense of exuberance and resistance about it – she loved that grit.

The ministry was alive with noise. Everywhere she looked people seemed to be either hugging, crying, rushing or cheering. It rather disorientated her as she landed in a heap at the foot of an elderly wizard hastily scanning the Daily Prophet.

"What's happening?" She asked, unfolding herself from the fireplace, he seemed annoyed at her question.

"Keep up young lady, he might be dead, they're saying he's dead."

"Who..." but the wizard marched away, folding the paper under his arm. Quickening her step she headed for the stand, took a paper and scanned the front page. _Dark Wizard Grindelwald: Dead?_

"You heard the news?" Eva asked as she walked into the office.

"Heard it, I've practically been swallowed up by it. Took me ten minutes to fight my way here."

"They're saying it was Dumbledore."

At this she stopped, gripping the paper in her hand a little tighter, she hadn't read further than the headlines before heading to her department.

"And?"

Eva was at Hogwarts too, a year above, never really had anything to do with Minerva but now she often acted as if they were best friends. The two of them, along with three others, were sharing a Victorian semi in the city.

"No word, could be dead too, was pretty horrific I think. Bit tight on details the old buggers," she indicated the corridor down to the Head Auror's office. "Would be a shame, always thought he'd be the next Headmaster."

Minerva felt her legs wobble and quickly sat back on the old couch. _He couldn't be dead._ _He promised her they'd stay in touch and he hadn't written back yet, she'd sent two letters at the end of summer and no reply and he couldn't be dead because he promised he'd stay in touch..._ The futility and childishness of her reasoning seemed to dawn on her and she closed her eyes, willing the pain away.

So this was what grief felt like. A slight likening to nausea, standing on the top of a high building and looking down, a feeling of uselessness – there was nothing she could do, nothing she could change.

* * *

><p>When she saw Bryan that night he was full of celebration. He'd wanted to go out dancing, the entire house had, so she'd been dragged out, playing the game. But as she watched him eat his dinner, laughing and joking with their friends, she quickly reached the conclusion that she had to end it with him. Because whatever <em>game <em>she was trying to be part of it wasn't real. The fun they had together, the pleasure of kissing and touching him, it didn't even come close to making her feel how she had last summer sitting beneath a tree with Albus. She'd tried to pretend she could be normal and fit in, but it wouldn't work, it never did. She wasn't the same. She didn't want the same as them.

She hastened to her feet, the group hardly noticed until she pushed behind Eva to get out of the booth.

"You alright Min?"

"I've got a terrible headache; I'm going to go home."

"Hang on," Bryan said draining his drink. "I'll walk you."

The others jeered, jostling his arm as he got up, swinging his coat over his shoulder. "Alone in the house hey..."

He just laughed; she was already out the door.

"Wait up Min."

"You don't have to walk with me," she said, her feet crunching the ice beneath foot. "I'm fine alone."

"I know, but I want to."

"It won't mean..." she stopped as he took her arm, leaning in close and kissing her cheek and she suddenly felt entirely horrid for so quickly reaching the conclusion he wasn't worth her time. "It's cold," she said, "let's find a spot and apparate."

In her kitchen she fussed making tea whilst he played around with the muggle wireless he'd got from home, his parents were both muggles. It intrigued her. How he got to be so gifted.

"Fancy a drop of something in that?" He whispered by her ear, she hadn't even realised he was behind her, "got some whisky?"

"No, I'm fine," she focussed on stirring sugar into his drink.

He was pressed up against her, as he had been so many times before, smelling of rich cinnamon. His mouth nuzzled her ear, then the back of her neck, moving the plait of hair aside as he nibbled her skin. They'd played this game before. She twisted her neck slightly until her lips found his and suddenly they were kissing greedily, hot and leading, she blocked thoughts of love and focussed on how it made her insides catch fire. She could do this. She wanted this.

One hand reached behind to touch him and she found her hand awkwardly twisted against his side, scrunching up his shirt. His hands were exploring, they'd done that before too, skimming her body, up her hips, her waist, cupping her breasts until she moaned into his mouth. He was very handsome, she was lucky to have him.

His left hand dipped down, over her stomach, she followed its progress in her mind even as they kissed, wondering where he'd go next, what he'd do next. When his fingers reached down and pressed between her thighs she froze.

Pulling back from the kiss Bryan noted her wide eyes.

"Sorry..." he murmured, "I went too fast, I thought it was what you wanted."

"It..." She shook her head, "I'm sorry, I thought I was ready but..."

"Its fine," he was embarrassed, nervous even, he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. "Listen don't worry, we can just forget..."

"Forget it happened." She said, she remembered saying it before in other circumstances. She smiled, kissing his cheek, "I'm sorry, I'm mixed up about everything, what it means, if he's really dead."

He nodded, thinking she meant Grindelwald.

"I'll let you go to bed, your headache."

"Yes, thank you."

He squeezed her hand before he left.

* * *

><p>A month later and she was out on a field in Poland. With just over a year in training she was joining her other trainees, supposedly only there as bystanders, as the Aurors went after what was left of Grindelwald's supporters.<p>

He'd been in Nurmengard for weeks now. Ironically. And Albus was alive, though she had yet to receive any contact from him, not personally. She couldn't deny it stung. But then really – what was she to him? Just an ex-student. He had friends, family, that had known him for considerably longer. He was world-renowned, the most powerful wizard of all time, celebrated, decorated. She was an ex student training to be an Auror. Small, tiny, in comparison. And it was enough that he was alive and well. More than enough.

Of course nothing ever went to plan; she was quickly learning that rule. And even though they weren't meant to be physically involved things had quickly gotten out of hand. The group they'd been tracking was much larger than anticipated, and Grindelwald had taught them a thing or two. It didn't take her long to realise she would be no bystander when the fight began. And she'd be fighting to kill... or be killed.

Minerva had mused how it was like gardening, one of her mother's favourite pastimes. You think you just pull the weed up and that's it, gone. But if you pull off the head you just spread it, and five more appear in its place.

So with Grindelwald behind bars they'd been blind enough to think that was it. Of course it wasn't. He had followers willing to fight on, in his name, to try and free him. And they'd been outnumbered, though she rather suspected _unprepared_ was closer to the mark. So here she was, numbingly cold in a field at five in the morning watching hexes fly back and forth. Testing her own abilities, watching friends fall.

Exhausted and despondent. This was her first experience of war. And a war they thought was over. Her initial joy at finding out Albus was still alive, and celebrated, quickly fading when this was thrust upon her. Everything seemed a little more real now.

She'd spotted him in their camp three days ago but he hadn't seen her. And even then he wasn't there long. He looked older. Weary. She wanted to comfort him, sit and talk as they used to in the safety of Hogwarts. He belonged there, not out here in this damp nothingness.

A flash of red skimmed past her ear and she felt an itchy burning sensation on her cheek, she fired back, mind firmly in the present, and watched her opponent fall. Just like duelling finals. She lightly touched her cheek, sticky with blood.

Striding forward, onwards, who was next? She was ready now! She caught sight of four, maybe even five, in a group – more like a gang, firing relentlessly at one spot. She ran forward, aiming herself, disarming two before she was even in sight of their target.

Dumbledore, magnificent as he stood tall, she couldn't remember him ever looking so fierce. His eyes, those soft gentle eyes, blazed with anger and focus. The two she'd hit were turned on her now and she hit one with a thud of hexes, the other quickly caught up with another one of her team.

She watched dumbstruck as Albus flew through the air, landing heavily, her heart constricted, she yelled – not a word, a strange yelp of pain as if it were she who had been hit. And then she witnessed as he took all three out with one graceful swoop of his arm before falling back upon the sodden earth.

Suddenly the war seemed to have stopped and the only sound was the buzzing in her ears.

"Albus!" She screamed, her voice sounding odd even to her own ears. For once she cursed the emerald robes which billowed around her, whipping her legs as she ran. She felt cumbersome and off-balance, a result of the constricting dress-wear and the recent fight.

It seemed to take an age to reach him, the cries of anguish and pain around her seemed somewhat muted, the only clear noise being the constant thud of her own heart pounding in her ears.

"Albus..." She was on her knees beside him, slender fingers brushing his hair back from his face, keenly aware of the blood sliding against her skin. "Albus?" More of a question this time, a pleading perhaps.

"Ah Minerva..." He breathed, a light smile already playing on his lips. "Did you see how I flew through the air?" He even chuckled.

She sat back, staring at him dumbfounded, her deep fear quickly replaced with incredulity. "Yes, I saw." Using a corner of her robes she dabbed at his cut face. "It's hardly something to celebrate."

He seemed to suddenly notice her. "My dear your face," He whispered, reaching to touch the three vicious slices along her cheek.

"Yours is worse," she bit back and he had to smile again, that sharp tongue had got her into trouble more than once as a student.

She held his gaze for a moment, a familiar feeling stirring in her chest as those sparkling eyes drew her in. Then too quickly she became aware of others gathering around her, medics tending to Albus, helping him up. They were separated and the moment was lost.

* * *

><p>A week later she was back home, and it was almost Christmas. She was going back to Scotland the following morning, spend some time with her family, get some sleep, eat some decent food. The battle already seemed an age ago, her brief contact with Albus some strange dream.<p>

The house was empty but for her and Eva, her parents were in London so she had no reason to leave.

Minerva was lying on the couch reading a book, glad of the peace and the chance to rest, when there was a knock at the door, she was about to get up when Eva swept in wearing a fabulous red dress.

"I'll get it, just Bryan." She said letting him in. "I'm almost ready, gotta get some shoes and I'm there."

The young man came in; he looked incredibly handsome Minerva thought as she slipped her glasses off and looked up at him. There had been an unspoken end to their relationship. She wondered really what it all meant. Was she such a wimp at these things? They'd never officially said it was over but he'd stopped coming over, she'd stopped arranging dates. That was it; she understood now what the term 'fizzled out' meant.

What she didn't expect was for her housemate to pick him up so quickly.

"Hi Min," he said sheepishly glancing down at where she lay.

"Hello, going to a party?"

"Yeah, wanna come, should be good, Christmas thing you know, some Muggle dance at a hall down..."

"No, it's fine; I'm going home tomorrow so I better not."

She was relieved when another knock came at the door and this time Bryan got it, she assumed it was another of their friends heading in the same direction yet she almost toppled off the couch when the tall wizard spoke.

"I'm looking for Minerva McGonagall."

"I'm right here," she said, tipping sideways completely undignified, her legs losing their way a little before her bare feet hit the floor. "I'm here," she said again, getting up just as Bryan led him down the short hall and into the lounge.

The older wizard stepped inside, quickly surveying the cosy surroundings, he was wearing a bright red travelling cloak covered in glowing golden stars and he smiled animatedly at her. "Hello Minerva. It's very good to see you."

"Hello Professor Dumbledore," she said weakly, seemingly transfixed by his gaze.

"Hey, you're... Merlin... Sir, so good to meet you." Bryan was fussing, shaking his hand like he was some kind of celebrity.

There was a clatter of heels in the kitchen and then a flurry of perfume as Eva seemed to glide into the room. "Professor, I can't believe you're here, you're so famous now and... I mean the war and what you did, we're all so..."

"Eva," Minerva snapped, embarrassed. "I thought you were going to a party..." she let the statement hang in the air, acutely aware of how glamorous her friend looked, blonde hair in loose curls, red dress, red nails, red lips, a diamond sparkling around her throat. Minerva felt positively dowdy in comparison.

"Yeah, you're right; we don't want to be late." Bryan said taking her arm, "So good to meet you sir."

"And you young man. Have a truly wonderful time, dancing is the key to happiness I'm sure."

"Thank you sir, we will." Eva said casting Minerva a 'what the hell' look before they disappeared down the stone steps and the door slammed shut leaving an odd silence in its wake.

"Well," Dumbledore said, "I certainly didn't expect to be called Professor when I saw you again."

"I'm sorry I..." she folded her hands together in front of her, twisting them uncertainly as she once did as a student. "I really never expected for you to visit, to see you again."

"Ah your letters. I'm afraid I must apologise my dear, I have them," and at that he took them from his pocket. "But my mail has been, I'm sorry to say, the least of my worries these past few months." He smiled slightly and for the first time she noticed the scar still on one cheek and the way he seemed to lean heavily on his left leg.

She moved forward without giving herself time to think about it, drawing him into a fierce hug, her petite frame almost enveloped by his voluminous cloak.

"I'm so glad you're..."

"Alive." He finished for her, chuckling as he glanced down at her, "As am I. And you too for that matter, I completely disagree with the ministry for putting such young people in that situation. I should have known though Minerva McGonagall can't be defeated that easily."

She stepped back from him, a little embarrassed and disconcerted by her sudden outpouring of affection. She never was one for silly emotional displays.

"Tea?" She asked weakly.

"That would be most welcome."

"Please, sit down." He did so, removing his cloak to reveal a rather regal looking set of robes. He noted Minerva's wide-eyed look at the brightness, "Ah, I've missed colour." He offered by way of explanation.

She poured the tea and sat beside him. "Again, I'm sorry to have been so lax with the correspondence," he said adding two lumps of sugar to his cup. "I was afraid you'd stopped writing because you thought I didn't care."

She was surprised to find her breathing had quickened a little at his words, "To be honest sir, I didn't know what to think."

"Albus."

"Mmm?"

"Call me Albus, we're not at Hogwarts now, and you're no longer my student. Unless of course you wish for me to teach you something."

She smiled, relaxing, "I'm sure there are always things to be taught. You never did explain the Patronus as communication."

"Ah," he tapped his nose, "quite a brilliant idea, but that's for another day." He keenly remembered that last afternoon by the lake with her; it had been something of a comfort in the days past. He wondered really what madness had driven him to come here, he could tie it all up in fancy pretences if he wanted to, but the reality was he knew she was attracted to him and he knew he was desperately attracted to her and that made it all very dangerous. He should have played it safe and replied by hand, not face-to-face. But then there was something about her he couldn't resist.

"Minerva, I would like nothing more than to exchange letters with you, for us to continue this friendship."

For a moment she had trouble believing it had been over a year since she'd last seen him, that she'd been just eighteen the last time she'd spoken to him by the side of the lake as she cast that first Patronus. She was now twenty. She saw herself as so much older and wiser, she'd learnt so much at the Ministry, she'd dated, had a steady boyfriend, but now she felt just like a child again lost in her emotions.

"I'd like that too."

"Good. I have brought you a gift."

"Oh," she swallowed her tea, putting her cup down.

"It is after all almost Christmas, and I realised the other day, as I lay in St. Mungo's trying to occupy my mind, that it isn't so long ago that you had a Birthday, an important one."

She smiled, "Albus, it was months ago..."

"Yes, but twenty is important, you are no longer a teenager." He produced a small box from his pocket and placed it upon the coffee table. Minerva watched as it slowly grew, no doubt enchanted to do so.

"I remembered how, back in your second year, you had terrible trouble getting to lessons on time in the winter. You missed the warmth of your bed and wanted nothing more than to curl up in there. And every winter that passed I believe you got progressively worse."

She allowed herself a small smile, "Yes, but my discipline overshadowed my need for the warm bed."

"And every morning you sat there looking miserable yet perfectly poised and ready for work."

"So..." she asked, moving forward.

"So, open it. I think it might help."

She quickly removed the ribbon from the box and took off the lid to reveal a small white, plastic, cat. As she lifted it up the head wobbled and it meowed at her.

"Oh my goodness!"

Albus cackled with laughter, "I discovered it in a Muggle gift shop. It's a clock."

"A cat clock." She said incredulously.

"Mmm, I thought it quite fitting." He laughed again. "And I hear congratulations are in order in that particular area too."

She sat back on the couch, a wide smile on her face as she balanced the clock in her palm. "Thank you, I'm finally feeling comfortable with the transformations, no more dizzy spells."

"Good. I knew you'd perfect it. Officially registered too now I see."

"Yes." _Was there anything he didn't know?_ "A little overwhelming. The ministry are quite keen for me to use it as a form of intelligence, but truth be told I was more interested in it from a transfiguration point of view."

He rested his hand over hers and she felt a prickle of delight shoot up her arm. "I'm very aware of that."

"Would you like a biscuit?" She suddenly said pulling her hand free.

"Of course."

She returned with a tartan tin and he grinned when he registered, "Ginger newts."

"It's entirely your fault I'm addicted."

He took two and sat back munching on them.

"So tell me my dear, are you going away for Christmas?"

"Home, I haven't seen my family in a long time."

He nodded, "And taking your boyfriend with you, I heard on the ministry grapevine..."

"No," she cut him off, "No, I don't have a boyfriend anymore."

Albus' eyes narrowed, "That young gentlemen I met tonight seemed very interested."

"I rather think he was more impressed with the glamour on offer than dowdy, cold Minerva."

"Why do you put yourself down?" He asked, suddenly serious.

She shrugged, "Easier. I read too much, and I'm not interested in their parties and frivolity, not really. I keep thinking I'm wasting my time when I'm there, thinking about the things I should be doing." She sighed, finding it difficult to fully convey her thoughts. "I just never seem to fit in."

"Maybe you haven't found the right person to enjoy those things with."

She swallowed, catching his eye.

"What I mean is you have a lot to offer Minerva, you're kind and incredibly bright," he took her hand again, "and we don't all look for the glamour, an honest heart is much more important. I think you'll be surprised to find that the young man in fact misses you and is already bored of the red dress."

Smiling she said, "I haven't seen you in so long, you've fought in the darkest most dangerous war we've ever known, and yet you come over here giving me advice on my love life?"

"All part of the service, I better be leaving you to your book anyhow." He stood up and she instantly missed him sitting by her side yet she too got up and followed him to the door. "Have a lovely Christmas Minerva."

"Thank you Albus, you too." She wondered where he was going, who he'd be with; she hoped he wouldn't be lonely. "And thank you again for my present."

"You are most welcome."

"I'll treasure it."

He nodded and with a flourish of his robes was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>1946<strong>

It was the end of January before she saw him again. More relaxed this time as she entered the bistro tucked away in the city. She had wondered why he'd suggested here for lunch and not one of the more fashionable places, or more popular haunts of Diagon Alley. But it became apparent when she found him surrounded by four or five wizards asking for stories and autographs.

He'd soon cleared them away though as he spotted her and stood to greet her with a kiss on both cheeks.

"Minerva, you look lovely, so glad you could meet me."

"An offer of lunch isn't something I get every day. Are they fans?" She teased.

"I'm beginning to find the whole thing incredibly tiresome."

"Don't be bashful, besides I'm sure in time it will die down, you know, ten or twelve years." She smirked.

"Isn't the snow glorious," he said watching her remove her woollen hat and scarf and shake the loose snow from her hair.

"Hmm, I'm not sure I'd use that word." She sulked sitting down.

"Cats aren't known for their love of the snow, how are you getting on with the clock?"

She ignored the jibe, "To be perfectly honest it scares me, I only have to catch it with my arm and it meows _so_ loudly."

He laughed, pouring her a glass of wine, "I know, marvellous isn't it."

She was shaking her head as she sipped her wine, "You are the most intriguing wizard I've ever come across."

"I have to say, you intrigue me too." He clicked his glass against hers. "Shall we order?"

* * *

><p>After lunch they took a walk through the park, she had to admire the way that even in muggle clothing he still managed to maintain the bright colours she knew him so well for, a purple umbrella, a silk suit. She felt positively drab in her black dress and burgundy coat.<p>

He took her arm, swinging the umbrella as they headed through Hyde Park towards the river.

"Thank you for your letters by the way," she said; they'd exchanged several since Christmas, and the speed and length of his letters surprised her. She was beginning to believe he genuinely wanted to form a relationship with her.

"Mmm..." He said simply, continuing their walk.

"What's that mean?" She asked glancing up at his serene smile.

"You're not entirely sure why I write, I can sense it, you're still so unsure of yourself."

She breathed deeply; he never did play around with his words. "Well, I suppose I'm not entirely sure what I can say that holds any interest."

"Minerva, didn't we always get on so very well at Hogwarts."

"That's different and you know it, I was your student, you had a duty to talk to me, to teach me, we very rarely ventured outside the subject of education in our discussions."

He nodded; he had to agree with that. "Yes, you're right; it doesn't mean we don't have things to talk about or that I don't find you intensely interesting." _Or alluring_, he thought but restrained from saying. "I keep telling you how bright you are, talented, and you're a true friend Minerva. Loyal. Not once have you asked me about Grindelwald, and of all my friends, you are the only one who hasn't."

She leant in a little closer to him, feeling the cold through her coat, so that was why he liked talking to her. "I didn't feel it my place to pry. I figure if you want to talk about it with me you'll do so. If not, then that's that."

They stopped by a bench and took a seat, sitting in silence as they watched the afternoon sunlight casting shapes over the frozen water. After a while he reached over and took her hand, kissing the back of it and then laying it on the bench between them as he continued to rub her glove-covered fingers.

"War is never an easy topic, and despite everything there's so much guilt."

"How can you feel guilty?" She said gently, genuinely confused, "You should be proud, everyone is so grateful..."

"Not everyone." He said swiftly. "Not everyone thinks I'm some kind of hero, I don't blame them, I've never particularly had much time for heroes either."

She let the comment rest and for a while they sat in silence again, Albus' concentration focussed on the view, hers on the way his fingers gently lifted and caressed hers.

"You know, you have to stop doing that." She plucked up the courage to say, indicating their entwined hands.

"Sorry?"

"If we're friends, that's fine I can cope with that. But you know, there was always the hint of something more, that time..."

"I hadn't forgotten Minerva," he said quickly. "In fact, I think about that moment a little too often."

She felt her pulse quicken, hope rise.

"And?" She finally managed to croak out.

"And we're better as friends, anything else is just..." he shook his head, still not meeting her gaze. "Too complicated, too dangerous and messy. I care very deeply for you; I wouldn't want to in any way harm that."

Her hope dropped again.

He squeezed her hand, "And how is Bryan?"

"Still with Eva," she said defiantly. "And I _know_ he isn't the one for me."

* * *

><p>It occurred to Dumbledore that perhaps he was relying on the young Minerva a little too much. After all they'd met countless times over the past few months, had exchanged letters now on almost a daily basis. Despite the frantic nature of his life right now she was the one constant. The one normal thing – as odd as it seemed. Labels and positions were being thrust upon him at an alarming rate. It had even been suggested the current minister stand down and he take their place. Yet he refused. Of one thing he was certain, he didn't want the power. He wanted to teach. To get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible. But with all that was going on it seemed unlikely he'd return that current year. September at the earliest.<p>

"You miss it don't you," she said one spring afternoon as they sat in the park.

"Very much. Very, _very_ much."

"I do too."

"Do you wish to return?"

She smirked, "I'm too old."

"As a teacher, perhaps, one day."

She wrinkled her nose, "I wouldn't be any good at it, I have no experience with children and very little patience."

"I think you'd be wonderful at it."

"And you think you know me," she laughed.

He smiled, "We won't be able to meet so frequently, when I'm back there."

It sounded almost illicit when he said it like that, even though all they'd ever done was eat dinner and drink coffee and talk. Talk and talk and talk. Yet she'd never spoken of it to anyone, not her family, not her friends. She wondered why.

"My nightmares are easing," he suddenly said and she turned sharply to face him.

"Oh?"

"Several months now, several attempts at removing the memories."

"Albus," she said concerned reaching for his hand.

He was shocked how just that act brought him to tears. Over the past few months he'd spoken of the duel countless times, had recounted it for several hearings and never once found himself overcome with emotions. Yet a girl he's attracted to whispers his name in concern and he breaks down in tears.

She moved closer, drawing him into an embrace, silent as his tears fell. It didn't scare her to see him cry, but it hurt, she didn't want to ever think of him as being in pain.

"I'm sorry Minerva," he whispered against her shoulder.

"Don't be." She rubbed his back soothingly. "You have nothing to apologise for."

"I don't mean to, I haven't..." he drew in a deep breath, leaning back from her.

She saw his pained expression, the furrowed brow and for the first time it struck her just how he carried the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders. She hated it for being that way. One man, however great, shouldn't have that burden.

She leant forward and chastely kissed his lips.

For a second he held her gaze, intense, eyes deep and contemplative. "Let me tell you..." He said, pulling her to him, her back to his chest.

"You don't have to..." she said gently, leaning back into his embrace.

He closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply. She felt warm against him, and whole, he'd dreamt of her so often whilst he was away – using the memory of her sweet humanity as the measure for his own. She was in a way his moral guidance, despite not even physically being there. He briefly considered revealing this to her, but it would be too much; she was too young to cope with that – the image of what he'd made her into in order to sustain him during the darkness.

"I was in love with him," he finally breathed, his words melting into the crisp afternoon air. She didn't respond and for a while he left it at that, holding her tight against him, her slim body seemed almost fragile against his, if it weren't for the fact he knew her temper – and skills with a wand – he'd have believed she was. "Does it shock you?" he finally asked, his voice croaking slightly.

"No," she said, and he wondered if that were wholly true.

"I didn't realise perhaps at the time that it was love, or something similar, some twisted version of what love is. I was only seventeen," he swallowed, kissing the top of her head suddenly and relaxing his hold a little. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't drag you into this. My memories. My mistakes."

She placed her hands on top of his where they rested on her stomach, bringing them back to clasp over each other holding her tight against him, her fingers rested gently on top of his.

"You see, my mother had just been killed... my sister, Kendra, it wasn't her fault, she had little control over her abilities."

She knew bits about this, had heard stories over the years, rumours and gossip about Dumbledore's broken family.

"I felt... well, I suppose I felt angry, the talent I had wasted as I had to stay at home and tend the family. I resented them. I resented being there. And I was angry at life, for the way my life – my family – had turned out. Somehow, I'm not saying it was logical, Merlin knows..."

He stopped, drawing in a tight ragged breath. She rubbed the back of his hand reassuringly, twisting her head to kiss his chest, she'd never done anything remotely like it before, it was a natural impulse.

He nuzzled her head again with his chin.

"And then he was there," he felt her entwine their fingers. "Offering something of life, I fell so hard, so fast... never known anything remotely like it before of course and one doesn't discuss those kinds of feelings with anyone, even if I had anyone to discuss it with. Friends never came to Godric's Hollow, Elphias off travelling – the trip we'd planned together."

He paused again, remembering the stubborn, self-important streak he had back then. A sense of deserving things to be better, for the world to bend to his will.

"Gellert offered me a way out, something to focus my resentment on. Muggles."

Again he fell silent; she rubbed one hand reassuringly up his arm.

"Once I let love control me, I lost sight of who I really was."

She sat forward now, turning to look at him, "Perhaps... but it doesn't mean love is always that way Albus." She smiled slightly at the raise of his eyebrows, "Of course I know all about love with my many experiences."

"Of course." He was grateful for her presence, the way she could lighten his mood.

"Don't you always say love is the most important thing we have?"

"Yes, and I truly believe that. But not for me, I... I don't trust myself with it."

She narrowed her eyes, watching his expression, the darkening of his eyes. "I don't think love was to blame. I think you fell for the wrong person, a dark, evil person who used your affection... who manipulated your affections."

He squeezed her shoulder, "I had thought of that too, believe me, I've looked at this from every angle. I just feel..."

"You can't have one bad experience and write it off forever, spend the rest of your life alone. It happened a long time ago."

"Minerva..." he kissed her forehead, "Doesn't it bother you at all?"

"That you loved a murderer, or the fact you loved a man?"

"Either."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping, "I think you have great capacity to love, and I think you were young and looking for something and he offered it. I don't think it matters who you loved, male or female; it doesn't change how I view you... or what I feel towards you..." She knew they were on dangerous territory; they hadn't spoken of their feelings towards each other, not really. Choosing to skate over the top of it instead.

Once again Albus ignored the bait, moving away from the dark reflective nature of his confession and instead smiling at her. "Ah, but then you're saying _I_ was young and impressionable?"

She nodded, turning around now and sitting cross legged to face him.

"By that token, you aren't that much older than I was, are you not young and impressionable?"

She smirked, "Have you ever known me to be influenced by another?"

"Not yet..."

"Don't play games, and I'm hardly young, I'm twenty now Albus, not a child anymore."

"No, but I'm old enough to be..."

"My father, yes I know."

"Even a grandfather."

"My grandfather would be in his eighties now!"

"That doesn't matter, the fact is there."

"It isn't a fact. I don't see your age; I don't judge you on your age. I judge you on who you are, on the goodness you do, the strength of the relationship we have. The friendship."

He reached forward and clasped her hand, "And I have no problem being friends."

"But I shouldn't push for more..." She sighed, still niggling away at him, still searching for some kind of recognition that this could be more.

"I don't want you wasting your time, your affections, on an old fool like me. You're young and vibrant, so very bright Minerva, such a future ahead of you. Don't tie yourself to me."

"Not even if it's my decision. If I want it."

"And what about what I want?"

She couldn't argue with that, she shrugged, "Fine. I'm not going to follow you around like some love-sick puppy, moping about."

He laughed, "I've had my fair share of that!"

"Oh, with who?" She leant towards him, almost giggling, "Do tell, I hope it's somebody powerful who I know."

"I don't kiss and tell."

"Neither do I," she said pointedly.

"I know that." He said lowly.

"Do you ever think about our kiss?" She whispered.

He licked his lips, eyes sparkling, "Never."

She smiled, "Me neither."

With a chuckle he got up, "I do believe I promised you dinner." He helped her up, "And it's getting late so let's find somewhere wonderful."

"You choose."

"Lobster, I dreamt of it whilst I was away, decadent."

"Alright." She brushed her robes down, her ramrod straight poise returning as she tucked any loose hairs back into her bun. "Do I look suitable for dinner?"

"Perfectly wonderful," he took her hand and she tucked her arm through his as they walked. "Thank you Minerva, for listening."

"You're welcome, we're friends right."

"Very good friends..." his voice altered slightly, "You know I've never told..."

She squeezed his arm, "And neither will I. Whatever we discuss is between us."

"You aren't a teenager anymore are you?" He stated, glancing sideways at her.

"Took you a while to notice," she groaned just before they apparated.

* * *

><p>"You got a visitor," Eva said as she abruptly knocked on Minerva's bedroom door.<p>

They were still hardly talking over the whole situation with Bryan, Minerva knew they were sleeping together and yet Bryan still seemed enamoured with her, showing every sign that if she snapped her fingers he'd drop Eva so fast. None of it bothered her really. She was far past caring about, what she viewed as, trivial matters.

"It's almost one in the morning." Minerva moaned, she was lying on her bed reading.

"Guess he doesn't keep usual hours, your great Professor Dumbledore. Since when did you become best friends anyhow?"

Minerva shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, "We're not, he's helping me with my Animagus research, that's all." She offered by way of an explanation.

Eva twisted her hair around her finger, "Well, we're playing cards in the lounge so it's not exactly quiet in there, you want me to send him up?"

"No, no I'll come down to the kitchen of course."

"Suit yourself."

Minerva wasn't sure what Eva made of Dumbledore's more frequent visits to their house, but she certainly didn't want to provide her with any ammunition in the gossip department.

She padded barefoot down the stairs and into the small kitchen, the tiles cool against her feet. Albus Dumbledore seemed to fill the little kitchen with his omniscient glow, resplendent in lilac robes.

"Albus..." she breathed and his eyes twinkled in merriment.

"Hello Minerva, I think your friends were quite startled by me."

"Well, you are the celebrity now, and it _is_ the early hours of Saturday morning."

"Ah so it is."

"Have you been drinking?" She asked with a smile, noting the red blush in his cheeks.

"Of course not, I have just attended another dull dinner and was consistently drawn into the repercussions of our recent victory and I kept thinking about the book I'd promised to bring you to help with your Animagus training. You are still writing a paper on it aren't you?"

She bit down on her lip, "Yes I am," she leant back against the counter with a smile. "And you just had to bring this _now_?" She turned back the front page reading the inscription, _To Minerva, I'm sure you'll get more from this than I ever did! Love Albus._

He nodded happily, "I didn't necessarily want to spend an evening alone and I could think of no better person to spend the evening with, whilst in London." He sat back on one of the small wooden chairs at the table.

"Evening is over, this is night." She said bluntly, amazed by how quickly their relationship had moved forward, she was direct with him now as if he were any other man, and their flirtation was much more pronounced. She was rather enjoying it. She opened the cupboard above the sink and took out two glasses. "Can you hold your drink Professor?"

He smirked at her pointed use of the noun, "I can try; though I doubt Miss McGonagall I have the same tolerance as your Scottish blood."

She handed him a small glass of malt, she'd brought it back from home during her last visit and transfigured the bottle into a cheap vinegar-like wine they'd vowed never to drink again to put her housemates off.

"Good stuff," he commented.

"I know my whisky." She was leant back against the sink sipping her drink. He liked the way it pushed her hips forward.

"I'm sure."

They heard raucous laughter from the other room and Dumbledore glanced in their direction with a smile.

"Do you want to join them?" she said standing up and passing him, "be careful with your galleons though."

He caught her elbow, holding her still, "I'd rather it was just you and I."

There was a sudden certainty to her actions that she knew she'd never felt before. Even when she was duelling, or working out a spell, however much she'd practiced and however well she knew her stuff there was always a tiny lingering doubt she might be wrong. She often questioned her own actions. But not now. This was absolute.

She slid her hand into his, grabbing the bottle of whisky with her other, and leading him to the back door. "Goodnight Albus, thank you for the book," she said loudly, her hand briefly leaving his to open the door.

He quickly caught on, "You're welcome, goodnight."

She slammed the door and then pulled him up the stairs.

The candles in her room flickered furiously as she shut and locked the door, and when she turned to face him, her wand still her hand from the Colloportus spell, it all felt decidedly unreal.

"This is my room," she said in a very quiet voice.

"Yes," he glanced round before downing his whisky. _What the hell was he doing here?_

"I'm sorry about the mess," she said, clearing her robes from the bed.

He was looking at the many books she had laid out on her desk and he easily slipped into her chair as he glanced at them, noting her scribbles in the margins.

"One can't help but wonder Minerva, why you're up here doing this on a Friday night whilst your friends..."

"Oh," she was smoothing out the bedclothes, "I'm not exactly popular at the moment, with the whole Bryan thing."

His eyes narrowed slightly, "You're sure there's nothing there with him."

"No," she said resolutely, her mouth dry, "You see, I keep... I keep thinking about you."

He smiled, slowly; at first she thought she'd scared him. "I keep thinking about you too."

"This is very surreal, having you sat there in my horrid little room."

"It smells of you," he said without thinking. Long nights hiding in dingy rooms he'd remembered her scent.

"I'm not sure what all this means." She said, feeling brave, the alcohol leaving a nice warm buzz along her veins.

"Me neither, would you rather I went or..."

"Or..." she smiled, stepping closer to him.

"Well," he chuckled, looking at his hands, "we could just talk."

"Yes, we could." She moved closer again, he sat up in the chair, leaning back so he could watch her a little more easily in the flickering light. "We've been talking for months now. And I do _like_ talking to you."

"I like that too Minerva, I think of you as a dear friend."

"And I you," her leg brushed his knee now, "I remember when we were talking in the woods, sitting on the floor in the clearing, the sun was setting."

"The ground was damp from the summer rain and you smelt of lavender," he added, held by her eyes.

"You held my hand and my heart was thumping so hard in my chest I was convinced you could hear it."

"Deafened by the thumping of my own heart," he whispered.

She leant forward, aware of his hand lifting to rest against her waist, and then her eyes closed and she touched his lips and everything else faded away.

For a second they were back there, almost two years ago, with the softness of a first tentative kiss. And then he opened his mouth and deepened it and she moaned into him. She couldn't remember ever doing that before.

When his tongue touched hers her stomach swooped and she leant into his body, something akin to the first time she'd hurtled to the ground on her broom racing. She never wanted it to stop.

"Minerva," he mumbled against her lips, his kiss moving to her chin, her neck, she arched back for him, feeling his other hand now on the dip of her back.

"Yes," she whispered in return, not really a question, more of a request. _Do it again, please do it over and over again._

"Minerva, Minerva..." she smiled as he said her name, hushed tones, his lips marking her, no-one would ever kiss her like this again she was sure.

He felt her tug at his arms, drawing him up to stand with her. Her hands were fast, removing his travelling cloak and pulling him back to her bed.

He held her gaze, _this wouldn't go too far, he wouldn't let it, just kissing, and perhaps cuddling, that was quite safe. But Merlin she was intoxicating._

"I can't stay for long," he said awkwardly, redundantly, as his mouth quickly found hers again and before he knew it they were lying side by side on the bed wrapped around each other, engaged in what he could only conclude was quite heavy foreplay.

_He'd never even taken her out on a proper date!_ He thought absently, _he couldn't, this couldn't work, people would stare, she was too young, she was his ex-student, his friend, it was too dangerous – he would always be hunted._

He pulled back slightly, startled by his train of thoughts.

"Don't stop," she breathed, hungrily seeking his kiss, her hands fumbling with his robes as she sought his skin. "I want you to stay." She was kissing his jaw, nibbling his ear, he heard himself groan deeply when her knee nudged between his legs and he knew he had to get out of there. _Make it stop. Be reasonable with her._

He sat up; she flopped down on her back, gazing up at him, eyes heavy with lust and desire. He felt his own body swimming with the same heady emotions. Her hands had succeeded in their task and he felt her delicate fingers moving up over his stomach, to his chest, opening his robes ever more as she went.

As he looked down at her, hair loose over the pillows, skin flushed, he knew there was no way he could ever leave. He quickly whispered a silencing incantation before leaning down to kiss her again.

"Minerva, you need to be sure."

"I am," she pushed her hips up towards him, "I am. I want this... you..."

She was kissing him again, soft light kisses that tickled.

He cupped her head, holding her so she couldn't continue, gazing down at her, aware of how her body was crying out for him, drawing him to her. Her hips pushed against his, her legs already parting for him. His erection was becoming painful, the way she rubbed against him.

He groaned, his chin hitting her forehead, intensely aware this was her first time. "We can't do this, it shouldn't be like this." He almost panted the words against her skin, "You should be with someone younger."

"I love you," she said eagerly, lifting her head up to seek his mouth. "I love you; I want it to be you."

When she kissed him this time there was nothing teasing or ticklish about it, she kissed him forcefully, passionately. Forcing his mouth open with hers and quickly finding his tongue with her own. When he moaned again he felt her smile slightly, she knew she had him.

"So beautiful..." he whispered reverently, his hands skimming down her body.

She rolled him onto his back, there on her small bed in the dim room. Sitting up so she could untie her night robe. She felt his eyes on her as the robe dropped down her back, then his fingertips working down her spine as the material fell away.

When she turned to him again she was naked but for her underwear, it was the first time she'd been that exposed to a man and yet she felt not one ounce of awkwardness about it.

The robe was pushed off the bed and she lay above him, pressing her body against his. As she kissed him, taking her time with it, he quickly unhooked her bra, feeling her smile as he did so, she was surprised by it. They fell back, him leaning over her now as he removed her bra and it joined her robe on the floor.

Her silky skin filled his palms and he took his time, sliding his fingertips along her arms, her hips, her stomach, up beneath her breasts. He kissed every inch of her skin, and she lay back blissfully letting him. She'd never dwelt upon what making love would be like, but she was quite sure that this was how it should be.

Absently she thought of the book – he'd only called round to drop off a book, it was amusing, so cliché, she wondered if he'd planned for this. If he'd thought that far ahead or really did just want her company.

She felt his fingers move up behind her knees, causing her to raise her legs slightly, she closed her eyes. Head spinning with want as his mouth closed over her nipple and she pushed against him, eager for more. His hands were on her thighs, the warmth there causing his own skin to prickle with pleasure.

_Oh please..._ she slid a hand into her hair, the other squeezing the sheets beneath her, _please, please, touch me there._

At first it was a light touch, as his fingertips swept between her legs and then she felt him curl his thumbs around the top of her panties and slowly, agonisingly, draw them down off her feet. She found it slightly amusing how he followed them down to her feet, stopping to kiss her toes, her ankles, her shins.

She giggled, lifting her head and looking down at him, "Albus..."

And then his hands were there again, that sweet pressure, soft at first, testing, and then his mouth touched her and she jerked upwards and gasped tightly. His right hand slid up her stomach until he found hers, and he folded his fingers with hers, squeezing as he continued the blissful torture. It was like heat building, or winding something up until it was tight and then letting it fall back down, he did this again and again until she was panting and writhing on the bed, reaching for him, her hands on his shoulders as she drew him back up to her.

"I want to," she breathed heavily, pushing at his clothes. He helped her undress him and soon he too was naked.

When he settled between her legs, his face by hers, long slow kisses starting again, she held him tight. "I love you," she said honestly, openly.

"I love you too," and he did, he was sure of that, whatever problems it entailed he was in no doubt that he did love her. Very much. "Tell me to stop if it..." she caught his mouth in a kiss again, urging him on with her leg curling up and over his.

He moved slowly, gauging her reaction, watching her face. The way her breath hitched, the way she bit down on her lip, the tightening of her eyes as he moved deeper inside her, he was in doubt it would hurt at first. He only wanted it to be right, for her.

"Shall I stop," he asked croakily, painfully trying to stay still and hold his own desires in some kind of check.

"No..." her voice was barely a whisper.

He kissed her again, drawing her back into the intoxicating, giddy world they'd created, until her grip on him loosened and her body moved of its own accord with his. They created their own rhythm.

* * *

><p>Later, when the house was silent and the candles almost burnt, they lay facing each other. Sleep wouldn't come and neither particularly wanted it.<p>

It hadn't been perfect, she never expected it to be, she'd heard enough late-night dormitory stories to realise that losing one's virginity wasn't as made out in fairytales. But she was glad it was with him. He was patient and tender. Taking his time as much as possible, stopping and waiting and holding her, kissing her. But then at one point he'd climaxed and been so utterly embarrassed, she hadn't even minded, and so he'd used his mouth again and this time she did orgasm under his touch.

"How are you feeling?" He whispered, his arms tight around her waist.

She pursed her lips, contemplating, _how did she feel_? She stroked his shoulder, moving his beard. "I'm not entirely sure, I suppose one never really knows how it will feel. Not bad."

He smiled, "Not bad?"

"I mean, I don't feel negative, I don't feel as if I've lost something. I feel... perhaps a little overwhelmed."

He remembered that feeling, the first few times he'd had sex, not for love but desire, young lust. And not being able to classify it or deal with the emotional baggage that came with it.

"Your beard has grown longer than when you taught me."

"You don't like it?"

"It will just take some getting used to. It tickles."

"Something you _can_ get used to?"

"Oh, most definitely."

He smiled again, kissing her nose, "You changed the subject."

"I'm no good at talking about my feelings."

"I'm hardly an expert on the matter."

"Well then, how well we fit together."

He groaned, pulling her tight against him, kissing the top of her head. "I never want to leave this room." He mumbled into her hair and his statement filled her with joy.

He rolled onto his back tugging her with him and she lay on top of him, breasts pressed against his chest, her legs tangled with his. "You can't, you'd be missed, I might get away with it."

"I'd miss you," he said, surprised at just how open he was with her, she did something to him, changed him in ways. He forgot about the outside world and its pressures.

"I should hope so," she replied, kissing him. "I think I'd like to try again."

"At? Oh... _oh_, well then..."

She laughed, "Did I shock you?"

"No, I'm just," he laughed with her, "women of my era aren't so forthright, I like it." His hands squeezed her hips as she moved, sitting up, "But then you aren't like any woman I've ever come across."

"Good."

How gracefully she moved, sitting back, leaning her head back, her long hair tumbling down her back – tangled from earlier. He wanted to lick her neck, her creamy skin, her perfectly formed breasts. She was pure and young and so _not_ what he'd expected to happen to him at this point in life. He felt the sharp pang of guilt hit, not for the first time that night, and pushed it away, burying it deep down inside. He knew it couldn't languish there forever and soon he'd have to deal with the fact that really he shouldn't be doing this, it was unfair to her, she should have a real boyfriend, someone who would marry her and give her children and be there every single day.

Right now, he couldn't bring himself to accept that was the truth. He didn't want to because he couldn't tear himself away from her.

He heard her moan and his eyes flickered to her face, mouth slightly open, eyes closed as she moved above him, the friction between them blissful. Falling in love with her all over again he reached down between their bodies and slowly pushed himself back inside her.

This time was better. This time he had more control and she wasn't so nervous. In fact as she moved above him, changing the pace to suit her, altering the angle slightly, he couldn't help but marvel at how quickly she picked things up. She'd been the same with spells, he didn't realise it would cover every aspect of her life!

She had him calling out her name; his hands almost rough as they moved along her body, pulling her down to kiss him, to taste her.

"Oh my goodness," she said breathlessly falling on top of him. "I think it's just going to keep getting better."

He was too overcome to speak, eyes closed as he struggled to get his breathing back under control. She wiggled against him still murmuring her pleasure against his chest.

"Albus..." she finally said lifting her head up to look at him, "Didn't you think... what's wrong?"

"Nothing, that was perhaps the most perfect moment of my life."

She laughed, covering his face in kisses, "And it was only my second try."

* * *

><p><em>I hope somebody out there is enjoying this - if so please leave me a review - it really encourages me to keep going!<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_**I know there's a lot of new Minerva information come out over the past few days because of Pottermore but I'm choosing to stick with what I'd originally planned for this story. I love JK but will always stand by ADMM forever!**_

_**AN: As always the character aren't mine, I make no money and I'm just playing.**_

* * *

><p><strong>The Undoing – chapter 3<strong>

**Summer 1946**

Sunday afternoon and she was making tea. The house was solemn and when she glanced out to the city streets she thought they looked so too. Having spent the majority of the day catching up on the news, both wizarding and muggle, she felt wholly sombre and full of melancholy.

It wasn't often Minerva McGonagall cried but as she'd read more and more snippets of information about what was done in the name of war she found the tears came silently.

She turned on the cold water tap in the kitchen and hastily splashed her face, ridding all evidence of her emotions. On the stairs she heard giggling and then heavy footsteps and a slammed door as Eva and Bryan came down and into the small kitchen. They'd spent the day in her bedroom, Minerva needn't guess what they'd been doing and as much as she wished them every happiness she was insanely jealous at the ease they could have in their relationship. Knowing now just how good it felt made it even more difficult to be without.

It had been nine days since she'd last seen Albus and she felt the absence ever more keenly listening to her friends enjoying the fruits of love. They had recently become engaged, despite the apparent awkwardness at the start of the relationship, and Minerva realised that soon she'd be looking for a new place to live. Newlyweds would want privacy and no doubt soon children would follow. She didn't mind that so much, it would be nice to have her own place.

"We're off to the pub for the afternoon, have a late lunch; do you want to join us?" Eva asked merrily as she put her shoes on.

"No, I'm fine thank you."

She watched as Bryan slipped his fiancée's coat over her shoulders and kissed her cheek as he did so. A stab of jealousy passed fleetingly through her chest and was quickly ridded, she didn't want Bryan, she'd made that choice.

"I think I'll just have a quiet day." She busied herself with the tea, pouring a cup and adding lemon.

No sooner had the front door closed than there was a knock at the back one. She was just nibbling on a piece of shortbread and felt annoyed at the interruption. Brushing her hands on her skirt she opened it, stepping back at first with a flood of joy quickly replaced with frustration.

"Oh," she said haughtily. "So you've remembered where I live."

Albus couldn't help the tight smile that took hold, "Hello Minerva, very good to see you too."

"I suppose you ought to come in." She stepped back, allowing him access then let the door fall heavily shut behind them.

"I'm in trouble."

"Whatever gives you that idea?" She said, facing him, arms folded.

He lay his hat down on the table, "My dear, I'm sorry for my absence."

"Don't 'dear' me, and is there something wrong with your owl?"

He shook his head; she never did make things easy. "The wizarding council have had be intensely busy, you must realise this is..."

"An unprecedented time, yes I know. And I don't care _who_ has had you busy, you do not ignore me."

He stifled a laugh, now would not be the time to tell her how glorious she was when in the full flow of anger. Instead he leant back against the table.

"Once again, I apologise. I shall never do it again."

"Hmm," she huffed, then unfolded her arms and turned back to the stairs. "Well come on then."

He stared at her retreating back, "Where are we going?" But followed anyway.

In her bedroom he sat on the edge of the bed, not quite following her train of thought yet.

"It's just selfish," she continued, unbuttoning her blouse. "There really is no excuse for lack of communication." She tossed the shirt over her desk. "Especially when I'm... I mean, I think you see me as your... goodness, I don't know what to call it. I certainly don't want to be just seen as your lover," she pulled the zip down on her skirt. "That implies you only want me for one thing."

"Indeed."

The skirt pooled at her ankles and she stepped out of it.

"Minerva?" He queried, confused, "are you still angry with me?"

"Furious of course!"

"Then what..." He indicated her now half-naked state.

"I haven't seen you for over a week, I may be angry but knowing you you'll be disappearing again soon and a girl needs her pleasures. So, stop sitting there and get undressed."

"Minerva McGonagall you are the most confounding woman I have ever met."

Her first smile. "Good." She threw her bra at him, "Now hurry up!"

* * *

><p>Later he slept. And as she watched him she felt slightly guilty for her earlier tirade, wondering how long it had been since he had been able to sleep peacefully.<p>

Sliding out from his arms she tiptoed out of the room and downstairs. She would make something for them to eat, open a bottle of wine and then wake him. She prepared fresh bread and fruit, cheese and splurged a little by putting chocolate on the tray too – for his sweet tooth.

"Dinner for your boyfriend?" She heard a voice come from the dark lounge area.

Pulling her robe tighter around her she went in, Eva was laying on the couch in the dark.

"I didn't realise you were home." She said nervously.

"Obviously, I had a headache, came home early. Imagine my surprise when I hear no other than the great Albus Dumbledore moaning and groaning in your bedroom."

_Oh god, in her haste she'd forgotten the privacy charm._

"Eva," she said quickly, "please, no one can know."

"I'm not surprised, that old man..." she glanced at Minerva, "I mean ew it's just..."

"No it isn't." She felt defiant now. "We're in love and it works and we're... just please, nobody can know. There are so many reasons nobody can know."

Eva shrugged, "Look Min, we've hardly ever really got on, two different types I guess. But I don't intend to start blabbing about your sex-life," she shot her a slightly disgusted look at that. "Just, well, Bryan and I we're gonna be married soon and..."

"I'll be gone by then; I've already started looking for somewhere."

"Thanks." She got up, pausing to stop right by the younger girl. "You do know what you're getting into with him don't you?" She asked lowly.

Minerva wasn't entirely sure what weight the question held – did she mean emotionally or something more serious or dark? Nevertheless she nodded, "Of course, he's a good man."

"That he might very well be, the best, but can he give you a life together?" She left the question hanging. "I'm going to take a bath and go to bed."

"Goodnight," Minerva whispered after her.

Things suddenly felt much more difficult than they did ten minutes ago as she returned to the bedroom. But then the warmth in the room, the sound of Albus' breathing and the scent of their lovemaking still lingering in the air eased her fears. She set the tray down on her desk and perched herself on the bed next to his sleeping form.

She brushed her little finger down his forehead, along his crooked nose, and then across his lips, tickling back and forth across his bottom lip until he opened his mouth and nibbled on her finger.

"That's not very nice," she whispered.

"Neither is waking an old man."

"Don't call yourself that," she admonished, watching as he turned flat on his back, eyes still closed. "I was worried I'd worn you out."

"You did," he chuckled, "but then, I haven't slept properly for well over a month now." He reached for her hand, folding his fingers with hers. "Good afternoon my dear," he finally said, lifting her hand up and kissing the back of it.

"It's evening."

"Well then, good evening."

"Good evening," she giggled, leaning down to kiss him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her body and keeping her tight against him.

"Fine," she drew her fingers through his beard drawing out the tangles. "And you?"

"Horribly in love."

"Horribly!" She exclaimed.

"Yes, enraptured by you." He snuggled her closer, burying his face in her neck and kissing her sweet skin. "Thank you," he finally whispered, pulling back to look at her.

"For?"

"Bringing me back to life."

"Oh... well, you're very welcome. Would you like something to eat?"

"Have you ever known me to turn down food?"

"Never. Nothing fancy," he sat up and she set the tray down on the bed next to him before returning to the desk to pour the wine.

"Looks wonderful, is that chocolate?"

"Yes, but dinner first, must do things in the right order." She said, picking up the napkins.

"Why?"

"You're like a child." She sighed.

"Come here and let me ravish you again," he proclaimed holding his arms out. She moved into them, laughing as he repeatedly kissed her stomach.

"You'll knock the tray over," she protested laughing.

"Then I'll tidy it again," he growled against her stomach causing a fresh set of giggles from her. "Oh Minerva," he stopped, holding her tight, looking up at her face.

"Yes?"

"I wish every day could be this easy."

She breathed deeply, not quite ready for the magic of the moment to be lost. "I rather think we ought to enjoy the days that are like this and remember them on lonelier ones."

"You always were incredibly smart."

"Mmm," she bent and kissed his forehead. "Shall we eat then?"

"I think I need the bathroom first. Old remember."

She slapped his arm, "You say that again and I'll..."

"I am rather tempted to find out just what you will do. However, knowing both your skill with a wand and your devious mind I shall do as you wish." He swung his legs out of the bed, wiggling his toes in the carpet. "Minerva your bed is blissful, and not just because you're in it, though that does indeed play an integral part."

"You're a terrible flirt," she smiled, "I don't think I ever realised before."

"Only with you."

"It better be," she watched as he transfigured his travelling cloak into a fluffy dressing gown. "You'll have to use the smaller bathroom downstairs, Eva is taking a bath."

"I didn't realise anyone was home."

"No," she briefly considered telling him they'd been overheard but thought against it. He had enough to worry about. "I'll check all is clear, follow me down."

She peeked around the bedroom door checking nobody else was around before he dashed down to the bathroom, she prayed none of the girls had left their stockings over the side of the sink again. Standing guard outside the bathroom door she listened to him whistling as he washed his face. He was happy.

After they sat on her bed sharing the bread, cheese and fruit.

"So, I was wondering if you were free next weekend?"

"I could be, I have to find a new place to live though."

"Oh?"

"Hmm, things are a little awkward here, what with them getting married soon. It will be for the best. I'll look for a flat."

"More privacy for us too," he said drinking his wine.

"I suppose so."

He sensed a slight tremble in her voice, "Are you really alright?" He placed his hand on her knee.

"Yes, just, with everything that's happened in the last year, sometimes it's a little overwhelming." She squeezed his hand. "I'm fine, really, so next weekend?"

"Oh yes, I have a wonderful cottage, a private place, I was thinking of taking a few days off, as I haven't in a while and I need some time before term begins. I wondered if you would agree to join me there for a couple of days."

She smiled, "Of course I would." Yet even as he leant forward to kiss her she felt the questions forming, why only two days, surely he'd be there for at least a week? Privacy again, a word she was becoming very used to. And a new term looming – she'd hardly see him for weeks at a time. Love certainly was testing.

* * *

><p><strong>November 1946<strong>

Thumbing the latest copy of _Transfiguration Today_ Minerva was annoyed to find that, once again, her paper hadn't been published. With a disinterested sigh she threw the journal down onto her desk.

Suddenly, and it seemed so very sudden that she couldn't even pinpoint when it was, her life had become something of a treadmill. Life at the ministry had slowed and she now spent the majority of her days trawling through records and forming reports on the war. For someone always ready to be out in the thick of the action it had muted her zest for the job. Being an Auror had always been her goal, she'd worked damned hard at Hogwarts just for this very opportunity. Now she wondered just how big a mistake she'd made.

Leaning back in her chair she stared at the pot of pencils sitting in front of her, her mouth twitched and soon in front of her sat a baby kitten.

"Well, hello." She said, leaning forward and tickling the ginger kitten's chin. "You're a nice diversion."

"Minerva," a voice came from behind her.

She turned, ready for a reprimand. "Yes, Mr Hebblethwaite?" She asked hesitantly.

"Did you just perform a wandless transfiguration spell?"

"Yes sir. I'll change it back." And she quickly did.

"That wasn't the issue McGonagall, I'm impressed."

"It's quite simple sir, I've been working more and more on controlling my mind, discipline is the key, so my teacher keeps telling me."

He nodded, handing her a new pile of parchments. "These need going over. Perhaps you should consider a career change McGonagall; there are plenty of witches and wizards out there who would pay for a decent Transfiguration teacher."

"Oh, I really don't think... I mean, I wouldn't want to leave my position here." Bored or not, Minerva never was a quitter.

"Tuition, easy way to make a little bit more. Who's your teacher by the way?"

"Sorry?"

"You said your teacher; I just wondered who you were working with. I understood your Animagus training had ended."

"It has, its erm, Professor Dumbledore sir, we share a love of transfiguration, he's always been very helpful in that area."

He nodded, clearly impressed, "Good work McGonagall, nice to see you have interests outside of here. I'll need those reports in an hour."

"Yes sir."

She returned to staring at the pencil pot, if only the publishers thought her work was as impressive.

* * *

><p><strong>Christmas 1946<strong>

Fidgeting again with her dress Minerva stepped out of the cubicle and waited for a gap in front of the mirror. Three older witches were applying lipstick and perfume, and she thought how beautiful they all looked, how elegant. She felt like a teenager again, hiding at the back during the Yule Ball.

_When had this happened?_ She wondered again, after all when she'd first arrived in London and started at the ministry she'd loved it, felt revitalised and important. Now she felt lonely and increasingly depressed. She was only twenty-one for goodness sake. Though her birthday seemed too far away now.

Albus had been wonderful, it was one of the few times she'd seen him since he'd returned to school. He'd wanted her to go out, throw a party, celebrate with her family and friends. Anything extravagant. As it was she'd wanted to stay home and had promised she'd throw something together for dinner. In return he'd promised to try and apparate over, at least for a couple of hours. Yet when she'd got home, laden with ever-flowering roses – a flower she didn't even care for – she'd found her small flat transformed. The ceiling swirled and sparkled with stars and planets, candles floated throughout the lounge and kitchen, Albus had transfigured her small coffee table into an intimate dining one, her couch was gone and there was room to dance. There was sumptuous food, she assumed prepared by the house elves at Hogwarts, and chamber music filling the air. For that night she was glad he was something of a romantic even if she wasn't.

She'd gone to Scotland for the weekend and her parents had thrown a small party, her aunt throwing out irritating questions about her single status and the lack of a ring on her finger. She had to bite her tongue more than once and remind her aunt it was 1946 now, now 1846, times had changed, women needn't marry and produce children anymore. She wasn't sure any of her family agreed.

Finding a gap by the mirror she muscled herself in, returning to the task at hand. The dress wasn't too bad, Eva had helped her out with it and at first she hadn't been sure, a dark red velvet dress, fitted bodice, not too tight though, and a flared skirt. It was elegant, feminine, so _not_ Minerva. Still, she rather admired her waist in it and she did look incredibly tall despite the flat simple shoes she wore beneath her skirt, heels made her appear almost giant-like. But her hair, taut and rigid in her usual bun. She'd long since given up trying to do something with it, and to plait it now seemed like a school-girl move.

She tried to pull some of it loose from the front so it didn't look quite so severe, but lost her temper and tugged the pins loose.

"Leave it down," a middle-aged witch said beside her. She was applying something to her cheeks. "Looks good."

"I feel too self-conscious about it," she pouted, pushing the thick strands away from her face. "It gets in the way."

"Maybe have it cut, something shorter, it's all the fashion."

"I've never really been one for fashion, I like the length."

"You're right," the lady snapped her lid down on the lipstick. "A shame to cut it. Here, let me help." And she did, taking the unruly mass and lifting it up again, away from Minerva's face but pinning it loosely at the nape of her neck, leaving a much freer style. "There, very elegant."

"Thank you so much, that seemed so easy."

The lady shrugged, "Happy to help, your dress is wonderful by the way. Have a lovely time tonight."

"Thank you, have a Merry Christmas."

And so it was with a slightly more positive outlook that Minerva finally stepped out of the bathroom and into the bustling ballroom. The ministry always threw good parties and Christmas was exceptional, extravagant and decadent. The very air smelt of chestnuts and cranberries, rich and spicy, and the room was filled with no less than six giant trees all glistening with rich rubies and glittering golds. There was a gentle snow fall coming from the vast ceiling and Minerva had to give Albus credit for the charm, though she was certain that by now she could have performed the spell equally as well. Her skills were forever improving under his tuition, shame she didn't have anything to do with them.

Taking a glass of red wine from a tray she found a spot by one of the trees at which to scan the room, taking in the chatter, the dancing, the couples. She spotted Eva and Bryan dancing and gave them a wave, Eva now in her sixth month of pregnancy moving less gracefully than usual.

She noted people from her office, old school acquaintances, members of the Wizengamot; all relaxed, all happy.

"Excuse me," a deep voice interrupted her brooding. "Terribly sorry to bother you, aren't you Minerva McGonagall?"

"Yes, I am, and you are?"

He held his hand out, "Alastor Moody," a short squat kind of man, younger than Minerva by a few years, he had careful eyes that seemed to be interrogating. "My father is here, I've heard about you from the Auror office, quote interested in that area myself, still at school now you understand but next year I plan to get in there. Wondered if maybe you had time to you know, give me a few hints."

"Hints?" She queried, turning to look at him now, intrigued by this earnest young man with the flat vowels. "Who is your father?"

"Well, he erm..." he ruffled his scruffy looking hair.

Minerva smiled, "He isn't here is he. I'm impressed, underage wizard managing to sneak in here; you have to be pretty smart to accomplish that."

"Don't get me thrown out will ya, just want to get some inside information, chat to a few pretty witches."

She laughed, "You young flirt."

"Mr Moody," Minerva looked up sharply at the familiar sound of Albus' voice. "May I ask what you're doing here?" He approached from behind the pair of them, deep emerald robes, his silver beard looking brighter than ever against them.

"Sir, Professor, I'm really sorry, I just wanted."

"I know what you wanted, hand it over."

For a second Alastor looked worried.

"Your drink Alastor, your drink."

He did as he was asked, "I just wanted to get started on my application."

"I know Alastor," Dumbledore's voice was low but warm, "but now is not the time nor the place. Go home before I have to take you myself."

"Yes sir, Merry Christmas sir. Miss – can I just owl you or something?"

She chuckled again, he was rather sweet really, "Of course you may."

They waited until the boy was out of earshot before Albus stood close to her, his elbow just touching hers.

"That was mean," she smiled, keeping her focus on the dance floor.

"I hope I don't have competition."

"Far too young," she admonished and he cringed inside, she was that age when he'd realised he'd fallen in love with her.

"You look very beautiful tonight my dear." He said gently, hiding his words behind his goblet and then taking a drink.

"Thank you, you know I'm not very good at these public things."

"I know you like to think you aren't, would you care to dance?"

"I think I need a couple more glasses of wine before I do, but then I might."

"You _love_ to dance."

"I love to dance when it's just the two of us and all eyes aren't on me because I'm with the great Albus Dumbledore."

"Well, I'll do a few turns around the dance floor with other suitable ladies and then save the most important dance for you. That way no suspicion raised."

"How will I know it's the most important dance?"

"Because I'll be with you."

She smiled now, finally turning to look at him, his eyes twinkling and full of life and she felt so very in love right then she could have thrown herself into his arms and kissed him on the spot.

"Albus, you old fool!" A raucous old laugh broke their moment as a small lady, grey-haired and full figured, clamped her hand down on Albus' arm.

"Ah, my dear Bathilda. I wondered if you would indeed attend, your last letter suggested you might be tempted to winter abroad."

"Sorely tempted, but I'd miss my bed. A good bed is hard to come by."

"Very true." They exchanged a kiss before Dumbledore stood back to bring Minerva into the conversation. "Bathilda, this is an ex student of mine, highly talented, best Transfiguration student since, well, me."

"Honoured I'm sure," Bathilda said holding her hand out and warmly grasping Minerva's. "Compared to the great man himself no less and he's always so very demure about things."

Minerva laughed; she liked Ms Bagshot right away. "An honour to meet you, I've read so many of your publications."

"Ah, Bathilda has a most wonderful work coming out next year," Albus said, "I've proofread a lot of it and it's fascinating, marvellous stuff."

Minerva wondered just how many things Albus took part it, and how on earth he found the time to. She really ought to start broadening her out-of-work interests.

"Ought to be good, taken some years of research I can tell you that. Are you a writer my dear?"

Minerva sighed, "Not yet, I keep trying but none of my essays have been published just yet."

"Don't give up, you are only young and have plenty of time for such things. Speaking of which shouldn't you be dancing instead of letting this old coot bore you with his great tales."

Minerva visibly shrank at the implication, the impact of going from relaxed and very happy to be part of this conversation to suddenly feeling a withered, inexperienced fool who had no right to be in such company.

"Yes," she said shakily, "I should be dancing." She held Albus' gaze for perhaps a second too long. "So very nice to meet you Ms Bagshot, and as always, good to see you again Professor." She headed towards the drinks table with as much dignity as she could muster, and after a gulp of wine her shoulders stiffened, neck straightened, and the formidable McGonagall was coming into play.

"Oh dear, I said the wrong thing there didn't I." Bathilda said replacing Minerva at Albus' side.

"I'm sure not," Albus took a long drink from his goblet.

Bathilda turned her back on the dance floor, holding Dumbledore firmly in her gaze. "What's going on there?"

"In what sense?"

"In the biblical sense of course." She shook her head, a wry tight smile forming, "No need to tell me, I can see it in your eyes."

"See what, _really_ Bathilda."

"Albus, I've known you since you were a child, and I've seen that particular look before." She warned, and images of him running around love struck after Gellert flashed into his mind.

He looked away, glanced at the floor, suddenly ashamed. "I know it's wrong."

"But you can't help yourself." She tutted, "Heard that before too."

"I'll end it." He said abruptly, unthinking.

"Don't do that because I've made a point, I'm not saying its wrong Albus, honestly I don't know the girl. But just be careful with her, she's young; she's obviously in love with you. Do you feel the same?"

For a moment he stared at her, uncertain of how much he should reveal. Finally, he gave a slight nod of his head.

Bathilda let out on a long, low sigh, "Well, then you're going to have to think very carefully about how you're going to bring her out into the open, because I rather think Miss McGonagall here isn't one for hiding in the shadows."

"No, no she isn't. She's a wonderfully talented witch, even if she doesn't realise it herself."

* * *

><p>Several hours later a rather drunk Minerva McGonagall was sitting in a dark corner of the foyer with her head on her knees. No matter how she sat, or how she moved, the entire world seemed to be on a wonky axis and was constantly spinning.<p>

"Care to dance now?"

She slowly shook her head, then instantly regretted it. "Can't," she mumbled into her knee caps.

"Minerva," Albus bent in front of her, "I've been looking for you for a while." He pushed her loose hair back from her face, "Minerva." He said, now concerned.

"I'm drunk," she slurred. "I want to die."

"No you don't, it will pass, too much Christmas punch. Come," he gripped her arms, helping her up. "I'll take you home."

"Don't want to be seen with me." She said abruptly, and he was glad of the dark quiet corner.

"No one here to see, we better not apparate, I fear for my robes if we do. And you need the air, come on."

He led her down the back corridor and out of an exit she didn't even know was there until they passed through it. The air was crisp and cutting and she was glad of it, Dumbledore shivered and pulled his robe tighter. "Did you have at travelling cloak Minerva, Minerva, look at me, did you...?"

"Don't have anything."

"No travelling cloak?"

She shook her head, leaning heavily against his arm, "Want to go home, to bed."

"I know, we're going." He held her up, transfiguring his cloak into a more appropriate muggle coat and wrapping it around her arms as he led her out into the bustling city street.

"Not too far," he said sometime later, supporting her wobbling body.

"Shh, mustn't be seen with me."

"I'm helping you home Minerva, you're in no state."

"They'll all miss you, not me, nobody misses me."

"I miss you," he said lowly, as they turned into her street. "Here we are now; let's go, up the steps."

She looked up at them and felt the house tipping forward, her flat was on the top floor.

"Ohhh no, want to be sick." She turned away from him, leaning on the wall and closing her eyes.

He rubbed her back, "Minerva, I can make you a tonic inside to help. Come on." He held her arm again, leading her to the bottom step.

She lifted one foot and fell back into his chest, laughing, "Can't do it, just leave me here."

He hauled her up into his arms, her legs hung loosely over them, "Off we go, up to bed now." And he carried her inside and then up to the very top floor.

* * *

><p>"Better?" He asked some time later as she lay back in bed.<p>

She nodded, red-faced, eyes heavy but better focused. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, lay off the red wine next time."

"I don't drink it much," she hiccupped and groaned and pulled the bed sheets up to her chin. "Go back to the party."

"I'll stay here with you, make sure you're well."

"I'm alive aren't I."

"Well good," he sat beside her on the bed, "surely you didn't mean it, wishing you were dead. It was just the drink."

"Yes," she said slowly, leaning her head against his chest, "just drink. Are you bored with me?"

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her, "Never could be."

"Do you still love me?"

"Always." He said gently, closing his eyes.

"That woman shooed me away." She said sleepily.

"No she didn't, she didn't mean to upset you, she was trying to be friendly."

"Everyone hates me, I don't fit in, I never have."

"Minerva," he warned, "you do, you just think you don't. Have confidence in yourself. I do."

"Mmm," she was lying against him now, eyes closed, breathing slowed, dreamy. "I got drunk."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I know that too."

"Make love to me."

"You wouldn't even remember it."

She smiled before she fell to sleep.

* * *

><p>A week later, after several grovelling letters of apology, Minerva finally seemed to have shrugged off the entire incident. And when she arrived at Albus' cottage on January 2nd she felt better than she had in a while. Christmas, though usually stuffy and frustrating, had been surprisingly relaxed that year and she'd enjoyed the days with her family.<p>

She was adamant that 1947 was going to be the year Minerva McGonagall stopped hiding in the shadows and taking dainty steps. It was time for a change.

"You have to let me win," Albus told her as they sat down to play chess that night.

"_Let_ you win? I'm sorry, are you confusing me with some other witch?"

"Absolutely not, but I do have a rather potent memory of you that you wish to dilute."

"Ahh, you told me it was forgotten." She stressed, almost jumping out of her chair.

He laughed heartily, "It is, it is, I'm only teasing."

She slapped his hand that lay on the table, "No more, I haven't drunk since then and probably never will again."

"Oh now, come on, we're celebrating a new year." He transfigured one of his fallen chess pieces into a glass, "Here, have some Port, sip it slowly now Minerva." He mocked.

"Oh bugger off!" She replied, but did indeed sip the heavenly liquid – slowly.

"Your mood is different since I last saw you." He said carefully, keenly aware of how down she was the last time they parted. It was making his decisions regarding their relationship, which he was adamant he had to make, even more difficult. He didn't wish to hurt her. And still, despite Bathilda's warnings, he couldn't quite get to the point of dragging himself away from her.

"I've made some important decisions. I will broaden my horizons this year, I shall travel, I will get published. I'm even considering – well, I want to do more in the Transfiguration area."

He nodded, immensely pleased, "I could help you with that, I know of a few specialist Professors who would be willing to take on a new student. And some of them abroad too, you could travel."

"Thank you Albus, but I intend to do it on my own."

His smile was even broader now, "As you wish my dear."

"Check," she announced, triumphant.

"Let's see shall we," he sat back in his chair, folding his long fingers together and gazing over the top of his spectacles at the board.

"I might need more Port if you're going to take forever."

"Patience, patience." He said pushing is spectacles back up his nose.

"I'll remind you of that later." She teased, her foot finding his beneath the table.

"Careful," he chuckled, "I'm wearing my new Christmas socks."

"I just love your foreplay..." She laughed.

* * *

><p>"Albus, are you awake?" Minerva whispered, as she closed the book she was reading from.<p>

"Mmm, I'm listening, read some more." He mumbled.

They were snuggled up on the couch in front of the fire, the room a flickering scene of shadows, candlelight and crackling flames. Albus' arm was heavy around Minerva's waist and she knew he was close to sleep. His breathing had thickened and he was comfortably squashed into the back of the couch, holding her close to him.

She craned her neck round to look at him, "You're practically asleep. We should go to bed." She made a move to pull out of his embrace but he tugged her back.

"Stay here, read one more to me."

Sighing she opened the book again, removing the marker and steadily reading the next lines, "_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_ _Admit impediments." _She dwelled on it for a moment, pausing to consider what it meant. Wedding vows of course, but the marriage of true minds, two people who were meant to be together? Two people whose minds link or complement the other? A marriage of minds suggested a likeness of thought and direction. She wondered if that was what Eva and Bryan had – though she doubted it very much, they were immensely different characters. Yet they worked, and people say opposites attract. So what is love?

"Minerva," Albus slurred, "the next line is _Love is not love_ _Which alters when it alteration finds,_ _Or bends with the remover to remove.__"_

"Show off," she mumbled, "but despite that Shakespeare thinks my love for you will never change."

"Indeed, or be shaken by rough storms."

She glanced at the next line,_ "__it is an ever-fixed mark,_ _That looks on tempests and is never shaken; _I can cope with that idea." She said, thinking of her parents, after all they'd survived the shock of her mother's revelation, so out of sync with her father's stern ways. "What about this line, _It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. _What does that mean?"

"Having never spoken to the man directly I would never assume to be the font of all knmowledge there."

"But..."

"But, if you insist, the wandering bark is a ship, makes me think of a traveller or a person who is lost in the world. And just as sailors rely on stars for guidance so does this lost man."

"You said person."

"Person then, the lost 'person' relies on the star to guide them, to help them see the way."

"And the height?"

"Perhaps, not taking that person for granted, or he's saying that true love never takes that person for granted." He yawned, "Are you going to finish it."

She nodded, turning her attention back to the book, "Goodness my eyes are bad in this light," she squinted,_ "__Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_ _Within his bending sickle's compass come;_ _Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_ _But bears it out even to the edge of doom.__" _She breathed deeply, setting the book down and leaning back against him, "So, however old and wrinkly I get if you love me you'll always love me."

He kissed the back of her neck, "Absolutely, and I think you've already proven that particular point in return."

She chuckled, "I suppose so."

"And Shakespeare cannot be proven wrong, because he _is, _or rather was_,_ a writer," he squeezed her stomach, "and from the beginning of time men have loved, and will continue to do so." He buried his face in her hair, "I cannot bear to move from this spot my dear."

"Alright," she blew the candle out on the coffee table. "We'll stay here."

"Thank you, you make an old man very happy."

She smiled, listening to him fall to sleep. Soon he had settled, his breathing deep and even, she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, his body warm and content against hers.

The words from the last poem scrolled through her mind, she could almost see the words scribbled in the dark air in front of her. Albus obviously knew them well, she wondered just how many females he'd read that particular sonnet with, and then quickly banished the thought. She had never been the jealous type and wouldn't start now.

Still, something about those words bothered her. She couldn't quite decide if she was Albus' star – something about that particular scenario made her smother a laugh. Indeed, as if needed anyone to be his guidance or constant, he'd been through so much, seen so much, why would he ever look to her at his 'star'? Yet turn it around, was he _her_ star? And if that were true she couldn't help but feel that she was trailing after him, trying to keep up, lost in his shadow.

"Go to sleep," he whispered behind her, kissing her neck again.

She placed her hand over his on her stomach, and he folded their fingers together. "Thought you were asleep."

"I was, your deep thinking woke me."

She smiled, turning over in his embrace and kissing him, "Sorry."

"Now go to sleep my love." He murmured, enfolding her in his arms, and she felt happy.

* * *

><p><strong>February 1947<strong>

Albus' taste for all things sweet was legendary. Often he took himself on a Sunday afternoon to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, and it was here that he met with his old friend, Elphias Doge, standing to greet him with a mouth full of lemon tart.

"Not much changes," Elphias commented as he shook his friend's hand. "How are you?"

"Very well, very well, currently involved in a debate with Ivor Dillonsby over his notes on Dragon's blood." He waved his hand excitedly, "Great discoveries there, but no matter, I'm sure will sort everything out quite soon. And to what do I owe this particular visit."

Elphias shrugged, helping himself to tea, "Need a reason now do I."

"Absolutely not, but I rather sensed in your last owl there was something."

Glancing around Elphias easily summoned a privacy charm, Dumbledore smiled at the skill; he'd taught him that very spell when he was in his seventh year at Hogwarts.

"You asked me, some time ago, to keep an eye on an ex-student on yours."

"Ahh, yes, and how he is getting on?" Albus dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a lemon drop, placing one on his tongue.

"You know he's been working at Borgin and Burkes."

"Yes, rather curious, don't you think."

"For a wizard as skilled as you say it's very odd. Settling for a role as a salesman," he shook his head, "but apparently he's very – shall we say skilled – at his particular task, persuasion."

"I believe that." Was all Dumbledore said.

"Knowing your 'interest' in this young man I made it my business to pop into said shop on occasion, and I rather noticed how women were easily falling under his charming spell. In fact I'd heard rumours of his budding friendship with Hepzibah Smith, do you remember her?"

"Yes I believe so, vaguely."

"She's been found dead Albus, poison in her cocoa."

Albus grimaced, "Unfortunate to ruin such a fine beverage, what's the connection?"

"Her house elf has confessed, I'm sure you'll be receicing word of the trial in the next couple of days, this is of course all hush-hush at the moment, she was only found yesterday."

"Yes of course. So you think..."

"I'm not making any assumptions Albus, merely passing on information, you'll be at the trial, I'm sure you'll form your own conclusions."

"Thank you Elphias, I appreciate the warning."

"Glad to be of help, now I think I have time for a slice of that tart before I apparate home. Care to join me in a second slice?"

* * *

><p>At the same time in London Minerva had braved the lingering winter weather and taken herself out for lunch, after she walked through the park and sat on a bench throwing food to the ducks.<p>

So far she had managed to stick to her plan. She was increasingly disillusioned with life at the Ministry and felt her considerable skills, not being conceited, weren't being used.

Redoubling her efforts she had begin researching the Animagus side of transfiguration, she figured she had more knowledge and interest in that area than most, and was currently re-writing her paper on it. Determined to be printed this time she'd re-written it five times already and twice sent it to Albus to read through. Of course he'd agreed. Of course he'd been as helpful as always.

"Excuse me."

She looked up, the afternoon sunlight blocking her view somewhat. She raised a hand to shield her eyes.

"Sorry to bother you." A young man sat down beside her on the bench. "I don't mean to interrupt you."

"Can I help you?" She said abruptly.

"I erm, I'm sorry, this may seem strange."

She narrowed her eyes as she took in his appearance; he was wearing a white apron, shop worker perhaps? Chef or waiter?

"I saw you earlier, in the cafe, you were having lunch."

"Oh, yes, did I leave something behind?"

"No, no not that," he ruffled his hair and the act made her look at his face for the first time. He was very handsome, about her age, maybe a couple of years older, very nervous whatever his age.

"Yes?" She granted him a small smile now, he seemed nice, she felt sorry for his obvious discomfort. "Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

"I was wondering, if you would like to take tea with me some time, or maybe just take a walk, it could be here, in the park. If you would be interested in... if you feel that wouldn't be inappropriate."

She smiled fully now, he really was very sweet and she felt instantly at ease in his presence.

"I appreciate the request, but you see I am currently," currently what – dating? Having sex? Waiting around? "In a relationship," she finally finished. "But, if not I would certainly," she smiled, briefly touching his arm, "tea would have been lovely."

"Oh, well, I'm very sorry to have troubled you."

"Don't be."

He got up, brushing his apron down, "Again, I'm sorry to have troubled you on your day off."

"Really, its fine, I'm rather flattered."

He smiled before turning away. She was rather surprised to find she watched him walk all the way back to the cafe through the park and across the road.

* * *

><p><strong>March 1947<strong>

"What's wrong?" Minerva asked as she came into the small lounge; he called it quaint, finding him bent by the hearth in the early hours of the morning, poking at the long-since dead fire.

"Ah, sorry, didn't mean to wake you." Albus said, surprised by her presence, perhaps a little annoyed by it.

She sank into the large squishy chair he usually sat in to read, curling her legs up beneath her.

"You didn't, I woke because I needed the loo."

He'd always liked the fact she didn't cut corners with him, straight to the point, none of this romanticism bullshit.

"So, why are you down here at gone three in the morning?"

"Needed to think. To be alone."

"Ah, so in other words piss off Minerva. I can take a hint." She uncurled her legs again, her arms wrapped around herself to keep out the cold. "You know Albus for a great wizard you have poor standards when taking care of your guests. Remember you invited me here for the weekend, not the other way around."

He huffed, standing tall and raising his hand gracefully at the fire, the blackened embers sprang back to life and he stood back marvelling at it.

"Show off," she muttered.

"Try it," he said, looking at her for the first time, he dropped his hand and it died again.

She stood beside him, "Is this the equivalent of a pissing contest?"

"You and that acerbic tongue," he shook his head, hands folded together in front of him.

For a while she watched the purple stars dancing about on his ridiculous flamboyant silver robes, why did she love him after all? He was still staring at the fire, ever the teacher, ever waiting for her to impress.

She slipped her wand out from her robes and gave it a quick swish.

"Mmm, good but still..."

"_Still,_ I should be able to do it wandless right."

"You can. Point your mind to it."

"I should be asleep, not getting lessons."

"One of my few pleasures in life is passing on knowledge. One of the few things I can give you."

"Don't start that again."

He held his hand open and she reluctantly handed him her wand. "I feel like a child being reprimanded."

He leant over and patted her head, "There, there my dear."

"Sarcastic bastard." She chided under her breath.

He was still chuckling and holding her gaze when the fire went out, he didn't even look at it this time.

Taking a deep breath she turned to face it again, arms folded, lips pursed in annoyance and concentration. "If you wanted to be alone I would have gone home." She finally said, still concentrating on the fire, a slight curl of smoke coming from the middle.

"I don't want you to go home."

"You've been very quiet this weekend, hardly spoken to me really."

He let out a long breath; she imagined the many cogs in his brain whirring around.

"Albus."

"Thought you were concentrating."

"Don't avoid me, shall I go home?"

"No. We agreed, a few days together, it's been a while since we've been alone."

"You say it _so_ romantically."

"You aren't the romantic type."

"Good bloody job as I haven't seen you in over a month!" A spark shot up the chimney and she felt almost gleeful.

"Getting there."

"Won't you talk to me? Tell me what's going on with you."

"Too much to tell."

She felt her shoulders slump again, "You make things so damned hard."

"I never said I'm easy, that being with me would be."

She turned to face him, "And _am_ I with you, really?"

"Yes," he stepped closer, "Of course you are," he reached out and touched the length of hair that had fallen loose of her plait. "You Minerva are the only joy I have at the moment."

"But things are good; the fuss has died down now over Grindelwald, you're teaching again."

"Which I love, but there are other... concerns?"

"About me?"

He nodded, slightly, "Yes, at times, but others too."

"What do you worry about me?"

"Let's not..."

"Albus! What do you worry about me?"

"Are you going to light the fire?"

As soon as the words left his mouth she turned abruptly and in a flash of angry red light the fire was in full force again.

He laughed, delighted, "Well done my dear."

"You make me so bloody angry."

He stepped into her, holding her arm, "Minerva, that I love you have no doubts, but I worry for your future, I worry about what I can possibly give you beyond this. Secret meetings and brief moments, snatched moments."

"I don't mind."

"But you will." He said knowingly, which made her even madder.

"And – what else? Other worries."

"I don't think it's wise for me to share them just yet. They are only my concerns, my question marks over certain... occurrences."

"Stop talking to me like a child, tell me."

He went to sit in the chair she had left, twiddling her wand between his long fingers.

"You remember Tom Riddle?"

She screwed her nose up, "Yes, popular boy in the year below me, bit creepy."

"Why do you say that?"

"Just a feeling. Why, did you see him?"

"Several times, I have, shall we say – concerns about him. Strange things have happened; do you remember the death of Hepzibah Smith?"

She nodded, coming to sit on the floor in front of him. "It was in the Daily Prophet."

"I'm not entirely convinced by her house elf's confession." He shrugged, "I could be wrong, just an odd feeling I had during the trial."

"You think Tom's involved in some way?" Her hands were on his knees, her chin rested on top of them.

"I don't want to start rumours."

"Who am I going to tell, I only speak to you, my parents or my work colleagues. And they're reluctant."

He brushed her hair again, "You need friends Minerva; don't isolate yourself waiting around for me."

"I'm not," she hated the insinuation, as close to the mark as it was.

Leaning forward he kissed her head, "Forget I said anything about Tom, as I said, these are my concerns and I do not wish to burden you with them."

She bit down on her bottom lip; more and more often he was brushing her aside as a confidante.

"Do you want to continue our Chess game?" She asked, spotting the board on the coffee table.

"Not now, it's late, you should go to bed."

"Are you coming?"

"In a while." He handed her wand back to her, "Go to bed Minerva."

She stood, still annoyed with him, "Treat me as an equal Albus, you may not see me as such but I certainly don't wish to be made to feel as though I'm less." And with that she went back upstairs leaving him to his musings.

* * *

><p>He thought how young she looked, sitting there on the bench beneath the willow in his garden the following morning. The sun just beginning to circle round and hit the back of the house full on and the last of the snow was shining, slushy now as it melted. He hated it when it melted. He loved winter in Scotland, the snow gloriously thick and the sound of children squealing in delight at it.<p>

"This wasn't what I had in mind," He said gently as he moved to sit beside her on the bench. "Thought you'd enjoy being here for the weekend."

She remained silent, eyes closed, face raised up to absorb the warmth. She was sitting on her hands; he thought it quaint, kicking at the snow barefoot.

"I didn't mean to upset you Minerva; honestly I've never been very good at this sort of thing."

She sniggered, "This _sort of thing_." She glanced across at his stricken expression, "No, I don't suppose you are very good at it."

He sighed deeply, over already, before it had even begun. She surprised him by placing her hand on his leg, leaning her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes again. "Never mind, all couples argue."

"We're a couple then."

"Aren't we?"

"Yes, I suppose we are. In an unconventional sense."

She gave that a minute before commenting, "I never have been one for the conventional."

"Minerva," he said warmly, his arms circling her slight frame, "If you don't want to do this."

"I do," she sat up quickly, "It's silly, things are changing so much and I'm..." she turned on the bench, lifting one foot up and resting her chin on her knee. "I suppose I'm coming to terms with growing up, having my own home, having a job, having a relationship. I saw Eva and Bryan and just wondered..."

"What it might be like to have it. Marriage and children. And no need to hide it from the world."

"But I wouldn't swap you," she quickly said, squeezing his hand. "Us."

He smiled, though something was a little off, she was already realising how different, how difficult, a life with him would be. What chance did they possibly have for the future?

"Let's go back to bed," she finally said, getting up and tugging on his hand.

"It's not even eleven o'clock yet."

"So, we hardly made the most of last night and I have to floo home tonight." She leant in and kissed him delicately on the nose, "I hate arguing with you. Let me make it up."

"You hardly need to..." but she was half way back to the house when she took her blouse off and threw it back towards him.

He could debate the finer points of what he'd gotten himself in to later.

* * *

><p>For a moment he froze, noticing his hand on her belly. His old hand, flecked with brown spots, her pure unblemished skin like porcelain.<p>

"Albus," she murmured, reaching down and pushing his hand to where she needed it most.

She was soft and warm, she smelt like summer meadows and he felt his stomach lurch at the sensation. Merlin knows how much he wanted her. How he wanted to give her everything and make this last forever.

She moaned something incomprehensible and he glanced down at her, staring as if it were the first time he'd ever seen her. Torn, he felt the heady pull of desire ever driving him on – raw and immeasurable. Yet her youth once again hit him like a slap in the face. She still looked innocent, still fresh. Eyes closed, mouth open, breathing deep and laboured, there were times he couldn't quite believe he was there with her. It seemed like a separate element of his life, something he'd put in a box and cut off from all other aspects because it was too bizarre to begin to merge them. The Professor, respected, eternal academic, possibly future headmaster. The hero. The newly appointed chief of the Wizengamot. _Where did she fit into all this? Could she ever really fit into it and did he even want her too?_

Her thigh curling up and around his upper leg woke him from his daze. Her hips lifting up, angling towards him to guide him. The intense desire he had for her, something dark and burning deep inside unfurled itself again and drove him on and all rational thought disappeared as he sank into her, again and again.

He couldn't recall it being like that before. Almost furious in its intensity. It scared him. And not much scared him.

Afterward, when she lay on her side with her back to him he curled up against her, fearful and desperate, kissing her shoulder blades, the back of her neck, repeatedly.

"This is crazy," he breathed, hot against her skin, "crazy, we have to stop."

She turned her upper body, eyes fluttering open as she took in his expression. "Why?" She was half asleep, eyes already dreamy, limbs languid.

"You're so young, this is wrong," even then as he said the words he felt himself being drawn again into her kiss. "This is crazy, I have to stop it." He felt her mouth move beneath his, with his, her slight body turn into his embrace. "I must..." he muttered against her lips.

"Shh, everything will be fine." She soothed, guiding his head to her chest, embracing him like a child fearful after a nightmare. He fell asleep there, wrapped in her embrace.

If Minerva thought his actions odd she didn't show it, for the first time in a while she actually felt like his 'star', there as a constant, there to offer comfort.

* * *

><p>Two days later Minerva returned to the cafe and the young muggle who'd been so earnest in his request for a date only a month before.<p>

She ordered tea and a scone, and sat by the window, and the young man brought them over.

"Hello," he said gently, putting the pot of tea in front of her. "I worried I'd put you off visiting here."

"Not at all, you have the best scones." She smiled warmly. "Besides, I was rather, I was wondering if you'd like to take a walk later, in the park?"

Joy suffused the man's face, "I would, very much; I'm George by the way."

"Minerva," she said, holding out her hand. "I know, unusual name. Came from my Grandma."

"It's pretty. Minerva. I can probably take an hour around one if that's alright with you?"

"Fine."

Well, Albus did say she needed to make more friends.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hope you're still enjoying this, and following it, sorry for the delay between chapters 2 and 3 but as you see I had a lot of ground to cover. Please leave me a review - I love reading them, they really encourage the writing.<strong>_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sorry this has taken me so long to write - I found this chapter VERY hard! I blame the release of information from Pottermore - it's totally thrown me - especially her birth date suddenly going forward 10 years! Anyhow, here it is, finally...**_

* * *

><p><strong>The Undoing – chapter 4<strong>

**August 1947**

Rushing from one department to the other with stack upon stack of orders needing to be signed seemed to be the instruction of the day for Minerva. Her feet ached and her mind whirled with information. She was bored, she couldn't escape that, and she longed to be free of the ministry, that much was clear. But where to go was less so.

Sagging against the wall of the lift she took a moment to groan in exhaustion and frustration, it was after seven, she wanted to go home and take a bath then work on her latest paper. She'd managed to get two published in the past three months, she was finally getting noticed in the world of Transfiguration and she so wanted to pursue it. At Hogwarts it had been easy, she'd had the greatest mentor of course and had excelled and won several accolades. Transferring that recognition outside of the school grounds was a little more difficult and she was yet to find her particular niche area on which to focus.

The lift doors opened and she stood straight again, lifting her head to greet whoever joined her. Her eyes sparkled and a broad smile spread across her face as Albus entered, he returned the smile, holding his hand out to her, "My dear Miss McGonagall," he said shaking her hand, "so good to see you again, I read your latest piece, most interesting."

She wondered at the seriousness of his tone until she spotted an attractive witch entering the lift behind him.

"Minerva, this is Madam Bones. Judith, Minerva was my most, and remains, talented Transfiguration student."

"Yes, I do believe we've met once or twice." The witch smiled kindly before moving to stand beside Dumbledore.

Minerva stepped over to the other side of the lift, out of their space, but watched them from the corner of her eye. Judith was whispering something to him and he chuckled, the way she'd heard him do it a hundred times before. But it wasn't until Madam Bone's hand lingered on his arm a second too long that a spasm of jealousy hit. She tightened her hold on her robe, scrunching the material between her fingers.

When the lift abruptly stopped she lurched forward, which she never did, always the image of upright poise.

"Miss McGonagall, are you alright?" Albus enquired.

"Perfectly," she said, shooting him a sharp look before exiting the lift.

That night she organised an abrupt dinner with George and was in the middle of dressing for it when Albus arrived at her flat. She let him in, grudgingly, and he followed her to the bedroom where she continued to dress.

"You look beautiful," he said, taking a seat on her bed, "that look suits you." He noted the muggle dress, black of course, the way she'd curled her hair and was putting earrings on.

"Thank you, I have a date." She said with a hint of venom to her words.

"Oh?" He almost sounded hurt and she regretted it.

"Well, dinner, just with a friend." She reassured, looking at him for the first time since he'd arrived.

"Good, I keep saying you need to get out with friends."

She shrugged, defensive again, "And I am, I felt the need to have a drink and dance tonight."

"With this muggle boy you've struck up a friendship with?"

"A-ha," she nodded, slipping heels on and turning to face him. "Will I pass?"

"Every time," he said softly.

"Funny you have a free evening to come and visit." She said, hands on hips. "Getting hold of you recently has proven difficult, you're ever elusive."

"My apologies, things have been hectic."

"They always are." She huffed.

"Minerva," he leant forward, reaching for her hand, "you do realise that Madam Bones is just a friend."

"Is she? I remember hearing rumours that she was once more than that."

He narrowed his eyes, why was she doing this, why pushing now? "Yes," he said, "she was, at one time."

"Your lover?" She whispered, incredulous, she'd only been teasing.

"Yes, I'm only human Minerva, never been celibate."

She felt tears pricking her eyes yet she couldn't understand why.

"My darling," he squeezed her hand, "you're the one."

"For now!" She shot back.

"Minerva, what's wrong, you've been like this for a while now. What have I done?"

He was so calm, so gentle with her. She pulled her hand back, covering her face, "Nothing ,you've done nothing." She groaned. "Maybe that's the problem, I don't know."

"How?"

"Because you're always like this, you're always so... placid and patient. Argue with me for Merlin's sake! Show me you care, that I matter, that there's some passion here."

He held her gaze, eyes clear and soft, as if he implicitly understood her outburst.

"Oh forget it, forget I said anything, what does it matter."

She was searching for her one and only evening bag, tripping in the heels she hardly ever wore.

"Alright," he said and stood. "I hope you have a lovely evening my dear."

She was on her knees searching for her bag under the bed; she watched his robes sweep out of the door and sat back, staring at the door after him. "Albus!" She called, getting up and dashing out in the lounge. "I'm sorry."

He'd stopped by the window, arms folded, "You have a wonderful view here Minerva," he said without turning around. "You chose well."

"Thank you," she stuttered.

He twisted his head to look at her, holding his arms out, she moved into his embrace, warm and comforting, resting her head against his chest. He kissed her hair, this would be the time to end it, the moment to say it's enough; _it's getting too messy and hurting you too much_. But once again he found the words left him.

"I do love you," he whispered instead and she smiled up at him.

"I know, I'm sorry I've been so miserable," she shrugged, "I can't seem to figure things out at the moment."

He wanted to tell her it was part of growing up and tuck her hair behind her ear, but the image of him as a parent figure prevented him. He never wanted to become that to her. Friend, mentor, lover – how he wished it could be more.

"So, go have a lovely time, I have to get back to the ministry." He kissed her once, chastely, "And I do mean have a lovely time, no worries or thoughts about me, us."

She smiled, returning his kiss, "I always think of you."

They parted at the corner of her street.

* * *

><p>Confused and flushed from the odd encounter with Albus Minerva arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early to find George already there. It wasn't until she saw him, dressed up in his best suit, that she realised it was their first real 'date'. In the past it had been afternoon tea or a stroll around the park. This was something formal. Something real. She wasn't sure she meant it to be a date.<p>

"Minerva," he said joyfully, "You look wonderful."

"Thank you," she said as she reached him and oddly found herself leaning in as he kissed her cheek. "Shall we go inside?"

She ordered fish and no entree, watching as he enjoyed pate and toast. Instead she sipped a large glass of wine, funny how she'd developed a taste for wine of late.

"Tell me about your work," he said.

"Nothing much to tell, I work in an office."

"You don't enjoy it," he smiled, "not sure I would, lack of sunlight."

"Yes, and how is your training going? I rather expected you to look incredibly exhausted. From what I've heard it's quite unforgiving."

"Mmm, very. But it helps if you have a love for it, and I do." He sat back in his chair, "Tell me, were you pleased to discover I was more than just a waiter?"

"I'm hardly the type to judge on monetary value, remember my father is a minister, my mother always..." She paused, remembering how difficult her mother had found it at times, the role she played. "Well, having a Doctor around always has its advantages, but I like you for you," she smiled finishing her wine.

"And I like you too, very much."

After dinner, they walked the streets of London, the air heady in the late summer. George tucked her arm through his, keeping her close, it was the first time she could remember him touching her in an intimate way. Well, vaguely intimate.

Her head was woozy from too much wine and too little food, yet there was a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sense of rightness and pleasure at the fact that he was so very honest with her. There was no hiding, no dancing around the subject; he told her forthright that he cared for her, wanted more. They walked the streets like any young couple in love, gentlemen nodded as they passed, they were accepted and it was easy to play that role.

Pausing by the steps to her flat she let herself be drawn round to face him, leant in to his body and closed her eyes. He kissed her cheek, shyly, and she smiled at his boyish charm. Albus was sure and certain at moments like this, experience she presumed. Opening her eyes she found George's face inches from hers, nervous and unsure, so instead she kissed him. His full lips trembling beneath hers, his hand slowly creeping around her back as he held onto her.

"There," she said, "Our first kiss."

He seemed overwhelmed, his eyes shining; she remembered the first kiss with Albus, on the outskirts of the forest at Hogwarts. How it seemed the entire world had shifted in one bright second. She wondered if George felt the same now, if somehow this dark street had been turned into a majestic scene of ignited love.

"Goodnight," she said suddenly, overwhelmed herself.

"Yes, goodnight, shall I telephone?"

"Of course," she squeezed his hand before slipping away, taking her steps two at a time as she headed up to her flat.

Inside the door she sobbed, a sense of loss, that what she shared with Albus had now somehow been diminished. The brightness of their union dimming somewhat in the aftermath of kissing another.

Confused and aching she went to the bathroom to change, rinsing away her tears and the feeling of another man's lips against hers.

When she got to the bedroom her stomach lurched. There in her bed lay Albus Dumbledore, flat on his back, in a deep sleep, arms wide as if waiting for her. The guilt in her belly sank and she pulled herself together, crawling in beside him. Snuggling up beneath his arm, her head finding the nook she often lay in, she felt his arm curl around her back, hand on her waist.

"My darling," he mumbled in his sleep.

She kissed his chest, "This is a surprise."

"I've missed you," he whispered kissing her hair.

She closed her eyes, "Missed you too." And she meant it, though as she lay there desperate to sleep in his embrace she couldn't help but feel ever more confused about the life she was now living.

* * *

><p><strong>Late September 1947<strong>

By the end of September Minerva had surprised herself by firmly cementing her ambitions and establishing her own extra tuition sessions. She imagined it would bring in extra funds which fed directly into her next ambition – the following year she would travel – extensively. What she hadn't anticipated was the joy and fulfilment she would get from it. Being with the students, be them nervous eleven year olds with no knowledge what-so-ever or nonchalant fifteen year olds preparing for examinations. She loved being with them. Sharing her knowledge, bringing theirs along. She'd never considered teaching as having any permanent fixture in her life but recently she'd begun to reassess.

She'd been even more surprised when towards the end of the month she'd been invited to Hogwarts. Headmaster Dippet had some crackpot idea about inviting back past students who had 'over-achieved'. She wondered just what it was she had achieved since she'd left that grand school but four years ago. However, she packed her trunk and took the train along with fellow ex-students for a three-day weekend.

It felt rather odd to be back, like meeting with your very best childhood friend after years apart. A clumsy awkwardness towards the beginnings of conversation, she felt that way as she took a slow walk up the path towards the main entrance, hanging back as the rest strode forward full of chatter and pride.

They were greeted at the door by the current prefects and she remembered wearing that badge with pride. Remembered how happy she'd felt when she'd received the letter from Professor Dumbledore, her Head of House, her teacher, her mentor...

She found herself breaking into a broad smile as Headmaster Dippet clapped his hands together, excited and glad to see them, she hadn't realised how much she'd missed seeing him. He was a great man in his own right, just overshadowed by a member of his own staff.

"Minerva," he said happily, taking her arm as she reached the top of the steps. "I'm most pleased to see you of them all," he whispered by her ear.

"You're very kind," she patted his arm, genuinely happy to be there with him.

The familiar rumble of hundreds of feet pattering about as they moved from room to room, the mindless chatter, the constant rush and energy. She remembered it all. And a part of her longed for that again, life was so simple then and she was so incredibly well suited to being there in that place of magic. She could feel it in the very air surrounding her.

Shown to her lodgings she unpacked and with over an hour to go before dinner decided to walk the familiar places, she wasn't one for afternoon naps.

She traced the route to Gryffindor tower, was let in by a gracious Fat Lady and sat by the fire remembering the nights she sat there cramming information prior to exams.

Of course her travels brought her back to her favourite corridor and her most treasured room, the Transfiguration classroom. Empty when she pushed open the tall door, she felt tears prick her eyes as she slowly made her way to the desk she'd occupied for so many years. She slipped into the seat, placed her hands on the desk and remembered how she would frantically scribble down every scrap of information passed her way.

When the hidden door towards the back of the room opened she paid it no heed, keeping her eyes fixed on the desk, reading the scratches of names of comments upon its surface. Just out of her eye line she could see the tall, graceful figure move to the top desk, the scrape of the chair as it was moved and a seat taken.

"Well, isn't this odd." Albus finally said.

Now she looked up, meeting his sparkling blue eyes with a warm smile. "Hello Albus."

"Hello my darling, you look quite wonderful sitting there. I'm filled with a thousand memories."

She laughed, "As am I," she leant back in her seat, "my first spell, the first time I caught your eye and you smiled, the first time you offered me a sherbet lemon."

"Ah, well, a precious moment in any young life."

"It seems as far back as I look my life is filled with you."

He was silent at that, but kept the smile in place, "Have you been exploring?"

"Yes, and remembering. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it."

"I know exactly of what you speak, this place," he glanced about, "makes me feel alive."

She stood then, moving up to his desk, standing in front of him at first as she used to, her hands reaching forward on the polished wood until her fingertips touched his.

"Sit next to me at dinner," he said, eyes focused on their touching fingers.

"Save me a seat." She said gently. "I have to go get myself ready for dinner, apparently Headmaster Dippet will be saying a few words of welcome, I hope I shan't be called upon to say anything."

He leant forward and squeezed her hand now, "You'll do it admirably."

"Hmm, I fear I might lose my voice."

She moved up the steps to stand behind him, overlooking the classroom, a position she hadn't taken before.

"I think you're finally finding your voice."

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," she smiled, "but I feel I quite like this particular view." She rested her hands on his shoulders, "Be careful, I may be after your job."

He laughed as she walked away, giving him a small wave at the door before returning to her rooms to change.

* * *

><p>The banquet was, as always, astounding and, as inelegant as it might be, she stuffed herself. Albus hadn't quite managed to seat himself beside her but she was only two seats away and he could hear her conversations and took delight in having her there alongside him.<p>

After dessert and speeches the guests stood and took a few minutes to explain why they were there, as if proving their worth. Minerva spoke of Hogwarts and her love for it, of Transfiguration – not the ministry – and the joy and unending interest she had in it. After many requests she even displayed her Animagus skills, jumping onto the top table and sitting proudly in her feline form to the applause of the hall. Albus felt proud, immensely proud.

He took her arm as the crowds began to disperse, preventing her from leaving, "Let's take a walk." He whispered and she gave the slightest nod as he let go and allowed her to mingle with the rest.

Fifteen minutes later she joined him in the courtyard, the crisp evening air, the darkness split by a large glowing moon. They walked in silence, her arm hooked through his, and for a while she dreamt that was how it could be. If she weren't twenty-two and increasingly distanced from him.

Their footsteps led them back to the edge of the woodlands, the stump Albus had sat upon as he taught. She let go of his arm, moving swiftly forward and tracing her fingertips over the surface. She sat down, turning her face towards him, "Goodness, I remember it exactly."

"Some things are hard to forget," he said, remaining beneath the trees, her pale face turned towards him. "You're very beautiful my dear." He admitted and she laughed.

"Albus, I never have been. Not like the other girls, not like mother."

He knelt in front of her, his hand on her knee, "I think you are."

She covered his hand with hers, an odd feeling of finality sinking in to her bones, this was where it began, their long affair. "I haven't thought of this place in so long," she whispered.

"I think of it every day."

Leaning forward she pressed her lips earnestly against his, and when his chest brushed against hers and they melted together it was like the first time all over again and she longed to be naked and in his arms.

He breathed deeply, his hand brushing across her hair, "We shouldn't do this here, someone might see." But he continued kissing her, soft and gentle, "Ah Minerva,_ the star to my wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown__. _But I know."

She rested her hand against his cheek, "We should go to bed."

He pressed her knee, "Come to my rooms, later?"

She nodded, leaning her forehead against his, "Later."

* * *

><p>With him it was always overwhelming, consuming. She found it like a pressure in her chest, taking over, sometimes she forgot who she was when she was with him, what she wanted. He was like a great magnetic force from which she couldn't escape. And didn't want to.<p>

As she ran, in her feline form, through the old corridors it was the familiar heady mix of love and lust that drove her to him but by the same token a fear of that very love that made her anxious. A familiar nervous desire pounding in her chest.

She hurried into the classroom, to his office, and was instantly admitted and swept into his arms.

"I've never seen your quarters," she mumbled against his lips.

He smiled, "But your presence has been here a thousand different times," he lifted her up into his arms, not an act of chivalry or romanticism; she saw it as a sign of his power, once again taking her over.

He carried her through to his private rooms, through the small lounge, through a creaking door that led to his bedroom where it smelt of him and laid her down on his bed. A grand four-poster, draped in deep reds, candles lighting the room, she turned her head to glance around and was shocked by the small picture that stood on the side table, it was of herself, only two years ago, laughing and twirling foolishly around. She wondered just what charms were upon it so it were visible to only the two of them.

She let him undress her, watched as he shed his own clothing and covered her body with his. Kissing her from head to toe, paying attention to every inch of her skin. His kisses delicious, the way he worshipped her overwhelming, irresistible.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful," he muttered as his kisses adorned her body. His fingertips trailing over her like velvet. Perhaps he understood on some level what she needed without her even voicing it.

When his body joined with hers she wanted to cry, to confess that she feared they were over because she was too weak and too lost to continue with it. The truth was she'd lost herself, being with him had somehow contributed to it. But in no way did she blame him. It was her fault. Her short-sightedness. She was in his shadow and as wonderful as it was to remain there bathing in the glory of his being – she needed to remember who she was.

"I do love you," she told him, her hands clamped on his shoulders, and she meant it.

He smiled, face by hers, mouth covering her skin with soft kisses, full of adoration.

She twisted them over, straddling him, leaning down and kissing him deeply, "Do you love me?" She whispered as his arms wound around her body.

"You know I do, so much it hurts."

And he was right, it did hurt. It wasn't how she'd ever imagined love to be.

Somehow when she sneaked back to her rooms hours later she knew it would be the last night she'd spend with him. Something within her had changed and in turn broken them. There was no way to return to it.

* * *

><p><strong>October 1947<strong>

She's not entirely sure what she expects when she invites George back to her flat just over a week later. It is her 22nd Birthday and as usual Albus wasn't free for the night, mid-week as it is, and she isn't seeing her family until the weekend and oddly she finds she has few friends she actually wishes to contact and convince to spend the night with her.

So, her immediate reaction is to contact the young man that has proved to be something of a wonderful diversion over the past few months. There's times late at night she'll lay in the darkness feeling like her brain has split in two; her life with Albus on one side, and then the easiness of her life with George on the other. And still she isn't entirely sure which she wants, or even if she cares for this muggle. Her heart still tightens just at the thought of Albus, of who he is and how much she loves him and respects him and what a friend he is to her. But then she thinks of the future and, try as she might, she can't see him there.

With George, sitting there talking to her about his day, his friends, his family, it's light and easy and clear. She knows her role in it all and can play it so easily. With Albus, she is forever the woman hiding in the background, the small inconsequential witch in the great Dumbledore shadow.

Therefore it's so easy to share dinner, to go dancing in an ordinary place with ordinary muggles and not worry about who may be watching and what might be reported back to the ministry. It's easy to laugh with him. To tell him her hopes for the future. Where she sees life going. It's easy to kiss him on the corner of her street in the darkness and to lead him back to her empty flat and her empty bed and make love to him.

What she didn't foresee was the hint of devastation that rooted deep down in her stomach. As the night rolls into morning and she's lying in his arms with his soft breath on her shoulder she realises he loves her and she's pretty sure her feelings for him are no longer just friendship. But at the same time somehow it cements the end of her first love and for that she mourns.

"You're up early," George whispers, somewhat nervous in her kitchen barefoot and in just his trousers.

"I usually am," she replies, stoic, making tea.

He steps towards her as she turns towards the fridge, meaning to draw her into a hug but she sidesteps him and awkwardly he manoeuvres back into a chair.

"Did I do something wrong here?" He asks as she passes him a cup of tea. He's forthright and she likes that because she is too.

"No," she sits across from him, trembling hands folded around her cup. "No you didn't, I just... look I wasn't expecting this to happen. I'm not quite sure how to handle it because, you see, there's..."

"There's somebody else? Is that it?" His head drops at her expression.

"We were dating for a long time and it's just," she holds her breath, willing back the sob that's formed in her chest. "I feel guilty doing this. I'm sorry," she covers her mouth, "I don't want to be some kind of cliché, I need to get my head around this. What's happening."

"Alright," he got up, tea untouched, "And, do you want me to... I mean I really like you Minerva and I want us to..." He ran a hand through his hair, "Never been in this position before, girls aren't usually... like you."

She smiled at his uncertainty; he was right, there were meant many girls out there who stood up for themselves the way she did, who had the bite that she did or the intelligence to back it up, who would casually sleep with two men at the same time and admit to it. Things had changed since the war. Women had changed.

"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "I don't mean to come across as cold. I'm just," she shrugged, "practical. Like my father I guess."

"Which isn't a bad thing."

"Not necessarily. I have to sort things out."

"With this other guy?"

She couldn't help but smirk at Albus' being referred to as a 'guy', if only he knew, he'd probably be sickened at the very thought, he was probably older than his father.

She gave a weak, "Yes."

"And then maybe we can..."

This time she smiled, his sweetness and honesty surprising her.

"Yes." She said again. Honest.

* * *

><p>Minerva's owls that week had been consistent and persistent; so much so Albus worried the casual observer might notice their over-active correspondence. She seemed desperate to see him, and coupled with his guilt over missing her birthday they'd arranged for that weekend. At his cottage. He would be in London on Friday evening meeting with the new minister for magic; they would travel by Portkey very early Saturday morning.<p>

There was something awkward in her greeting, a tight hug and a quick kiss to his cheek. Minerva had always been something of an enigma to most, distant and difficult to read. With him she'd always been open, close, they'd reached that stage long ago where they knew the other's thoughts without even trying.

He knew it was over. Had known it was over the last time they'd met at Hogwarts. Clinging on when the inevitable was staring him in the face was becoming something of a pattern for him, he'd done the same with Gellert – hoping against hope he wouldn't be the one who would have to take him down on the battlefield. Until he'd been, non-too-gently, pushed into it.

"Are you ready?" He asked, slightly apprehensive as he took her small hand in his.

The day was still shrouded in early morning mist, barely six a.m. as it was, and she gripped her carpet bag tightly, her nails digging into the back of her skin. For days she'd been turning this conversation over in her mind with no real idea as to how to start it or what to say. How could she find the words?

"Minerva," he said gently when she didn't reply.

She looked up at him, her usually bright and expressive eyes betraying nothing of her worry, but it was evident anyway, to him, in her very manner.

"Yes, I'm ready." She said softly.

He stroked his fingers over the back of her hand, how was he going to end it now – finally – after all these months of worrying about it? How would he find the words?

The tug at her body was sharp and volatile; she'd always preferred transportation by broom, the fresh air and thrill of the ride so much more endearing. She was still steadying her feet on the cobbled path when Albus spoke.

"Wand out Minerva!" He ordered, releasing her arm and taking out his own wand. His face had changed, eyes darkened and there was a stern aura to his mood.

She did as he asked, turning her attention fully to the cottage now, the place they'd spent many a glorious weekend in the early years of their courtship. The quaint home now seemed very dark, the front door was open and there was a strange sound coming faintly down the short path that led to the road.

Feeling her pulse quicken she pursed her lips together in an effort to keep her straggled breathing under control. Albus was already moving down the path and she silently followed, there was an odd shimmering light in front of the door – she quickly assessed it to be the magical wards, broken, as if smashed, she couldn't help but wonder how and be awed by the person who had been able to do it.

The tip of Albus' wand blinkered in the dark hall – the very hall they'd once made love in against the wall, she remembered where and when exactly but banished it from her mind. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Albus as her foot crushed down on a shard of glass, ignoring the sliver of pain it caused she followed Albus' gaze and stepped back when she noted a large splatter of blood along the wall. But whose? His cottage was private, safe and secure. Who could have breeched that? Who would have dared?

Moving closer to him he whipped his head back to look at her, eyes sharp and burning, a foreboding energy emanating from him. He'd forgotten she was there; he didn't want her there, not now. Not to see this.

He glanced upstairs to where the low noise was coming from; he recognised it now, the strangled moans, lack of energy forming some kind of whimpering cry signalling deep, immense pain.

Quickly assessing the downstairs rooms he felt no presence but theirs.

"Minerva, remain down here, keep your guard up." He spoke quickly but she noted a slight softness creep into his eyes as he looked at her, fear perhaps, fear and concern for her wellbeing.

She watched his back as he headed upstairs and again glanced at the wall, a long line of blood streaked up one side, as if from a slashed throat she thought. She closed her eyes picturing it then found her Gryffindor strength again and continued down the hall. The lounge was almost unrecognisable; Albus' belongings covered the floor, furniture ruined, purposefully torn apart. A dull thud came from upstairs and she glanced at the ceiling but was met with silence.

Moving back out to the hall she looked up the stairs, heart hammering, blood pulsing to a deafening beat in her ear. She stepped forward, hand reaching for the stair rail.

A flash of red made her turn, quick, defensive.

In the door was tall slim figure, dark of face, wand pointed toward her.

She turned her body in order to face the intruder head on, wand out; she quickly masked the slight shaking of her wrist.

"Who are you?" She said firmly and the figure stepped forward, head held high.

"Well, Minerva, been a long time hasn't it."

She'd recognise the clipped tone anywhere and now his face, changed but recognisable. "Tom," she whispered.

He lowered his wand slightly, keeping her firmly in his eye line. She was about his height, she remembered facing him once on the duelling field but their paths had rarely crossed.

He smiled, odd, almost a snarl though clearly meant to put her at ease, "Long time since we've faced each other like this, do you remember how I wonder." He spoke eloquently, as if weighing her up, as if trying to charm her.

She returned his gesture with a half smile and a nod, "I remember Tom, how much you liked to win."

"And you bested me but twice I recall." He smiled again, a show of teeth this time, a defiant chin as pride filled his face. "Why are you here?" He demanded, his voice suddenly changing, eyes taking on a flash of red, she almost thought she saw his face alter – just slightly – an odd snake-like appearance.

She thought fast, she couldn't say she was with Albus, didn't want him discovered, she'd rather die before giving him up. In fact as she stood there she fully expected death to be but seconds away.

"The ministry sent me," she said sternly, feeling a line of sweat trickle down her back. "Something had occurred," she jerked her chin in the direction of the blood. "Obviously."

"Ah yes, a little diversion." He sneered, licked his lips, "Such a grey job Minerva, for a witch of your talents, you could join me you know, escape the box in which you exist."

"Join what exactly?" She held her wand tight, felt the magic right there pulsing in her arm.

A pin-prick of pain shot through her forehead followed by a rush of heat, her free hand reached up to her temple before she fully registered what was happening. She blocked his probing, feeling it like fingernails closing around her mind, tight and sharp. Drawing her thoughts as one might draw blood.

"One shouldn't lie Minerva, it only angers me and I would so like to utilise talents such as yours."

She wondered what he'd seen, how much he knew, her feelings for Albus – had she buried them well, did he see it as friendship or more?

"But I see your alliance is with Dumbledore," he almost spat the word, "Foolish, he's an old man now and as much as you respect him – as do I – the world has to change."

He levelled his wand at her, "Perhaps a warning, a sign for him." She felt a sharp line be drawn down her cheek, and the warm, sticky sensation of blood trickling. How had he done that? "Too easy, let's get him here shall we, let him watch as his protégée falls apart."

"Expelliarmus!" Was roared from somewhere high behind Minerva, she felt herself fall forward, her knees whack the floor as a crescendo of colour hit above her. Tom's snarling as he moved forward, kicking her out of the way.

She crawled to the side, daring to lean back against the wall and look up. Albus magnificent at the top of the stairs, his wand locked with Tom's. She couldn't look away from them, the expression on Tom's face, so malevolent and powerful. Albus raised his free hand and knocked Tom backwards and she took the opportunity to get to her feet, positioning herself back slightly, hidden by the door frame as she too raised her wand and shot 'Stupefy' at Tom.

He repelled her and she hid back behind the wall as his curse crumbled the plaster. She heard him laugh and her own anger boiled, she stepped out again, ready to fight.

"Tom," she heard Dumbledore say, stepping carefully down the stairs. "This is foolish, if you want me then let's get it over with."

"Ah, but there is your failing you see, I don't just want to kill you, I want to defeat you, to make you suffer in any way I can. And if taking out a side-player like this," he jerked his head towards Minerva, "then so be it."

She stepped forward, she could feel the heat emanating from Tom's body he was so close, she was terrified but she continued forward, wand held high. "I made my choice a long time ago," she said confidently. "Imperio," she cast.

"Protego," he screamed before she even had chance to think and she flew back, her head thudding against the door to the kitchen. It slid open and she fell back, flat on the floor, looking up at an old man fixed to the ceiling, eyes frozen open. The urge to vomit swelled in her stomach.

Pulling herself up she caught a glimpse of Tom's face by the door, Albus coming down, Tom seemingly frozen to the spot as he stared at her.

"Nice to see you again Minerva," he said, then turned his attention back to Albus. "Until next time." He nodded and then shot out, "Incendio!" before disappearing in a wave of black.

Albus formed an orb of water around the flames, recoiling back as the heat swept forward.

The cottage was suddenly silent again. She flopped backwards, head against the wall, listening to the steady drip of something – water perhaps. For a few seconds she was alone, lost in her thoughts of what had just occurred.

Then Albus was beside her, sitting her up, attentive, concerned. "We're alright now," he assured and she realised the wards were back up. "Get you out of here, did he hurt you, Minerva, did he hurt you?"

She finally looked into his face and was shocked by the fear present – it hadn't been there when he was fighting Tom, it was the fear of losing her, of her being injured and him powerless to stop it.

"I'm fine," she assured him, covering his shaking hand. "Really Albus I'm fine, just a little shocked, the adrenalin you know." She shook her head, "I thought my reflexes were quicker."

"He's grown immensely powerful." He was dabbing at the cut on her face with his robes, his eyes still dark and wide.

"How did he get in?"

"I would believe that my unsuspecting gardener had something to do with it, I should have warned him..." he glanced upwards and Minerva remembered the old man. It was then she realised the dripping was of blood, not water, coming from the man.

"Upstairs?" She whispered, focusing her attention back on Albus.

He shook his head once, "You don't want to know."

"Albus?" Her voice was firm; she had to know in order to fight.

"His wife," he croaked out, shaking his head again, "I can only assume she came looking for him, a good witch, I taught her many years ago." His eyes watered a little and Minerva touched his cheek, she couldn't help but picture the wife in a similar position to her husband, the thud she'd heard earlier the result of Albus releasing the bonds.

"I'll contact the ministry," he said, stroking her hair back, "thank Merlin you're..." but then he looked away, pulled himself to his feet and helped her up.

"I'll contact them," she said, "I think Tom may have been looking for something, you might want to check."

"Thank you my dear but you should leave, our being here would be difficult to explain don't you think."

Reluctantly she nodded, "I know you're right but I..." she held his hand tight, "I don't want to leave you."

"I'll come to your flat as soon as I can."

Flooded afresh with affection for him she leant forward and kissed him firmly on the lips. He helped to her feet and within seconds she had apparated and was back in her small and lonely flat.

* * *

><p>It was the early hours of Sunday morning before Albus returned to London. In the darkness he chose to walk, unaffected by the autumn chill, unseen by the few who were still about in the capital.<p>

By the time he reached Minerva's small flat, tucked away on a forgetful street, he was clear about two things; firstly that Tom Riddle was going to become a great, dark force; secondly, that he had to end his relationship with Minerva.

In regards to both he had little idea of quite how to tackle them.

He found Minerva asleep on her couch, wrapped in several blankets. He had barely taken a step across the room before she sat bolt upright, wand out.

"It's me Minerva, just me."

Her hair was stuck up, coming loose from her plait, yet despite her ruffled appearance her eyes were bright and fierce. She lowered her wand, "Hello."

"Hello," he smiled, "I sometimes forget about your reflexes." He moved to sit beside her, "Sorry I've been so long."

"What happened? Where's Tom?"

"I don't know yet, I intend to find out. Minerva," he placed his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in next to him. "I'm afraid I need to ask you to keep this to yourself, about our Mr Riddle. The ministry don't know it was him."

"Why not? Why hide him?"

"I need to deal with this my way, I need to discover as much as possible. The minister's interference... I work best alone."

"You just think you do," she pouted, always Albus in his ivory tower, the keeper of the information, but her argument was silent – he was Albus Dumbledore and she trusted him implicitly and whatever he thought right would inevitably be so.

They sat in silence for a while, in each other's embrace but perhaps never further away.

"I don't want you in danger," he finally whispered, his chin resting on her hair. "Being with me, any link to me, does that."

She didn't respond, what was the point. He was right, yes, but it didn't matter to her, it had never been an issue. Yet here he was giving her a way out, easy escape. He pulled her tighter against him, his hand tight around her upper arm, his thumb stroking back and forth reassuringly, encouragingly.

She wasn't aware of how long they sat there, silent and reflective. The events of the past day turning over in her mind; two deaths, two innocent people gone, and here he was giving her a way out of it all.

"I want to fight," she said lowly. "Whatever happens, I'd always stand by your side."

"I know that Minerva, let's hope the moment never comes. I want you to try and forget..." he paused, breathed deeply. "I mean, try and move on."

"From you?" She asked, voice trembling.

He was silent again, let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

She finally spoke, "This is hard to say," she could hardly hear her own voice and already her eyes felt tight. She swallowed, knitting her hands together in her lap. "I don't know what to do Albus, how to do this. You see, you're my best friend, the best friend I've ever..." She covered her mouth in a bid to calm the oddly sharp sob, awkward there in the silent room, she turned her gaze away from him.

Albus breathed deeply, there was tight knot forming in his chest, this was inevitable he'd always known that. And really he'd been meaning to do the right thing for months and call it off with her; none of it was fair on her. Now, in amidst his own pain at the thought of losing her, he pushed it aside and did the only thing that came natural. To offer comfort.

He reached forward and patted her leg, leaving his hand on her knee, "It's alright Minerva, you don't have to feel bad..."

"But I do," she spluttered, looking at him again, "I feel... this is the hardest thing I've ever had to do and I don't want to do it really Albus, I..." She was crying again, the pressure of trying to control her tears and appear stoic causing odd hiccups in the back of her throat.

His arms were still around her shoulders and gently he brought her head to rest on his chest, letting her cry it out. He wiped at his own face, removing the evidence of his heartbreak so she'd never know.

"I'll always be your friend." He finally said.

She nodded, still leaning against him, snuffling into the handkerchief he'd handed her, "I so wanted it to work. When this first started, I was so foolish to think it would..." She shrugged, "I don't know, I guess I thought it would be easy, that love would be enough. Because I really do love you, absolutely, and I'd do anything..."

"Shh, my darling," he kissed her head. "I don't want you to change who you are to fit around me, to fit in with me. None of this has been fair on you, I haven't."

"But you're such a good person," she was sat up again, beside him on the couch. "You are, so honourable, my mentor since I can remember."

He smiled, "Well, at least I've done something right, because you've grown into a fine young woman."

"Thank you," she sighed heavily, covering her face, "Oh god, you know what really scares me, I'm so afraid I'll never have this again. Never feel this way again about a man, so intense, so well-suited. I'm so relaxed with you," she looked up at him, leaning her elbows on her knees as she did so, "We don't even have to try, it just works."

"I know."

"What if I can't... never find that again."

"My dear Minerva," he took hold of her hand, "you will always be loved, and I have no doubt you'll be incredibly happy. But you're right, you're right to end this because it isn't fair to keep... I want you to have more. A family, a real husband who is there each and every day to support you, not someone who is putting your life in danger simply by acquaintance. What happened with Tom – if he'd hurt you I would never forgive myself. I've made enough mistakes, hurt enough of the people I love, if you were to suffer because of me."

She folded her fingers with his, snuffling again, "So, where do we go from here?"

"As I said, I will always be your friend and support you in whatever you do; I hope we can still have that."

"Of course, Merlin of course," she threw her arms around him, holding him tight to her. "I still need to see you, talk to you; you can visit whenever in London."

"I won't intrude."

"It won't be, I promise."

He was silent for a moment, all these promises of keeping-in-touch, of love and friendship overriding ill feeling and those clumsy overtures of failure that remained after relationships end. He'd been there before; he had yet to find an ex-lover who he had been able to keep a tight friendship with.

"Minerva, this boy you've been seeing."

She pulled back slightly, reserved now, "George."

"I think you care for him."

She was slow to respond, she didn't want to hurt him anymore but something in his eyes seemed to draw honesty from her and she knew really, deep down, that he would never judge.

"I do, I think... I think maybe there could really be something there. That I at least should give it a chance."

"I think so too, and rest assured I am very happy for you. I want nothing but for you to be happy."

She was crying again, silent tears slipping down her pale face, "I'm so sorry Albus."

"Don't be, this is the right thing to do."

They embraced again, her chin on his shoulder, he closed his eyes, savouring the moment, relaying to memory every inch of the moment – the warmth of her body against his, her fragrance, the softness of her hair.

"I love you," she blubbed into his shoulder.

"I know, and I love you too Minerva, very much."


End file.
